


Hell Is Where the Heart Is

by meerkat2020



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, Brat, Choking, Curses, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisitor is an asshole, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, So much angst, a lot of em, but i love him so dearly, everyone is emotionally unavailable, he's a ho, i'm not good at slow burn lol i gotta get that lovin in there, ish, it's mentioned i'm debating if i'm going to detail it, jasper had a potty mouth, jasper sleeps around a lot, like swear words, my ultimate kink, no one is emotionally stable, nose kisses, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 185,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meerkat2020/pseuds/meerkat2020
Summary: Jasper is a literal piece of shit. He's ready to run high-tail out of Haven when they try christening him as the Herald of Andraste, but Sister Nightingale, Seeker Cassandra, Amabassador Montilyet, and Commander Cullen have no quandaries with flaying him alive if he tries. So he's stuck. At least there's plenty of folks willing to crawl into bed with him, no strings attached."And so, Jasper ended up being the very reluctant hero in this tale against the odds."Enter Dorian, who Jasper cannot stand, especially because of how very much his type the damned ‘Vint is. What’s an elf to do??Tell ya what tho, bucko. This is a terrible summary but this is also a terrible fanfic full of self-indulgence. So. You've been warned. I love you.Smut in chapter 10, 11, 12, 18, 20, 25, 26, 27 if that's what you're looking for :)
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 67
Kudos: 107





	1. What the FUCK Is Going On?

It was just his luck to land in such a steaming, heaping pile of dog shit.

Between being rather embarrassingly manhandled by Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, and the giant hole in the sky tearing the Veil asunder...well, it was not _quite_ what Jasper had been expecting of Haven. The manhandled bit, well, he had dealt with worse. But the hole in the sky? That was different. That was bad. What was worse, they thought _he_ had something to do with it! He could barely string a few letters together to spell his name, much less produce...whatever sort of shit magic this was. He was a _rogue_ , for goodness’ sake.

“Maker’s tits…” he groaned as Seeker Pentaghast cut the cords binding his wrists together, now in the light of day outside the musty dungeons. Not the most pleasant time he’d been restrained like that, but definitely not the worst either. He was struggling to his feet, absolutely winded by the effect the hole in the sky, the Breach, seemed to have on him. He stared at the mark on his left hand, glowing eerily similarly to the Breach. It throbbed, tendrils of sharp, stabbing pain lancing up his arm. “You all really think I would do this to myself?”

“Not intentionally, no,” Cassandra admitted reluctantly, though it seemed to pain her to give him any benefit of the doubt. She looked up toward the Breach and away again. “Something clearly went wrong. The mage who studied you while you slept...he believes your marked hand may be the key to closing the Breach. Every time the Breach expands, so does the mark on your hand. And it is killing you. Help us close the Breach, and there will be a trial to decide your fate. More than that, I cannot promise.”

Jasper eyed the Seeker and stuck his nose in the air contentiously, as if he really had a bargaining chip in this game. Still, he’d had worse odds and pulled out on top. “And if I refuse?”

The Breach answered for Cassandra. It flared angrily, meteorites of green energy shooting out from it to crash all over the landscape. As it spasmed, so too did the mark, just as Seeker Pentaghast had said. It drove him back to his knees with a keen scream of pain that Jasper tried so hard to muffle against his fists. It felt like his left had been plunged into a dwarven forge, fire licking up his nerves. It made his mind go blank for a long moment before he was able to try and catch his breath.

“I cannot force you to help us,” Cassandra said with a slightly disgusted sneer on her face. “But I do not think you have much choice. Will you allow your pride to kill you?”

Clambering to his feet once more, Jasper shot an annoyed look at the Seeker. “Don’t start trying to guilt me. That reverse-psychology shit isn’t going to work on me, you know. But,” he conceded with a much-put-upon sigh and a roll of his eyes, “I would like to find the asshole who’s blaming me for his nonsense, just so I can thank him properly. Knock his fucking teeth in, too, while I’m at it.”

The two of them trailed up the side of the mountain, the villagers fixing their venomous glares on Jasper as they passed them by. He could feel the hatred emanating from them. He was rather used to that, honestly. It was the fact that this time, at least, he was innocent that rankled him. He heard them hissing curses after him, but he just had to let it roll off his shoulders, like he’d let so many other insults before.

“Look, I’m sorry about your Divine lady, really,” Jasper said after the weight of the silence interspersed with far-off sounds of fighting became too much for him. “That blows. But I’m not even Andrastian. In fact, I don’t believe in any sort of deity. I have no grudge against any of you or your people, so if you wouldn’t mind turning the other way after I close that Breach, I would - ”

“The forward camp is not far,” Cassandra cut him off with a barely subdued growl. They were crossing a stone bridge over a frozen creek. Jasper chewed on the inside of his cheek, sure he had not curried any favor with the Seeker. Maybe the redhead from the dungeon who had also been interrogating him? Perhaps she would be easier to work his wiles on…

“Look out!” Cassandra shouted. Jasper froze up with fear as a glowing green meteorite hurtled toward them. He barely had time to take back that whole not-believing-in-any-deities thing before the bridge exploded under their feet, pitching him out toward the frozen water below. He hit it hard, sure he had cracked the ice. He rolled to the side, using his arms to shield himself against the falling debris.

After a moment of bracing himself and catching his breath, Jasper rolled to his feet, crouching low. Cassandra leapt to her feet a moment later, drawing her sword and shield as a puddle of green before her started to glow and expand. A hand clawed out of it, a scabby, too-big, clawed hand, followed by the rotting, ghostly flesh of a demon made real. A demon. Walking. On this side of the Veil. It was supposed to be impossible, wasn’t it? Or at least incredibly rare?

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra snarled, assuming an aggressive position and drawing the demon’s attention.

“Fine by me!” Jasper nearly squealed. He had fought and killed many things in his time, including quite a number of possessed corpses during one ill-fated venture in tomb-robbing. Never had he fought a demon, and he did not plan on adding it to his repertoire. Maker’s balls, he hadn’t even known they could materialize outside the Fade, except in very rare cases, like where the Veil was thin.

He was cowering quite happily when a pool of green energy started pulsing behind Cassandra, a demon clawing its way out as she badgered against the demons before her. Jasper’s eyes widened. She didn’t seem to notice the newcomer. He glanced away, saw a couple of daggers glinting in the weak, green sunlight, half-hidden under a barrage of debris from the bridge. His eyes flitted back to Cassandra and the demon rapidly materializing behind her.

“Andraste’s knicker-weasels!” he cursed loudly as he lunged to the side, making a mad grab for the daggers. He snatched them up, and they felt weird in his hands, not properly weighted for him, the blades dull and chipped. Still, it was better than nothing. Then he leapt at the demon as it reared itself behind Cassandra, ready to slice her back open. Jasper drove the two daggers into the shoulderblades of the creature, ripping downward through sinew and muscle and bone, leaving long, jagged cuts. The unnatural thing roared and shrieked and turned around to attack Jasper, but he was faster and he landed blow after blow, hacking away at it until it was no more than a pile of Fade goop on the ice.

Jasper was just opening his mouth for a witty quip when he shut it rather quickly, a tad unnerved by the sword hovering just below his chin. At the end of it stood Cassandra, fury in her stormy eyes. “Put your weapon down, prisoner,” she growled. Not much of a thank-you.

Jasper rolled his eyes and dropped the two short swords with a roll of his eyes. “You plan on frisking me, too?” he asked sardonically, lifting his hands outward to shoulder height. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

Cassandra’s gaze hardened. “This is a serious situation, elf.”

Jasper dropped his hands to his hips, taking a moment to take a gander up at the sky. “Gee, Seeker, I hadn’t noticed. Is this not how your typical Tuesday goes? Mine usually goes the same way, except I wake up naked, typically.”

“It is Friday,” she corrected.

“Ah, right, I forgot that I nearly died for _three fucking days_ ,” Jasper replied glibly, bending down to pick up the two daggers despite Cassandra’s protests. “Look, Seeker, as much as I enjoy watching you protect me rather gallantly, we have a better chance of survival working with each other instead of against.”

Cassandra sighed with a tone of disgust. “You are right. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to continue on unarmed.”

Jasper grinned. “I pinky-promise I won’t stab you in the back, Seeker. Not today, at least.”

Her mouth was set in a grim line as she surveyed him. She was taller than him, unusual for most human females, but that had never bothered Jasper too much. He did not back down from her scowl. “Do not tempt me to shackle you again, prisoner.”

“Buy me dinner first, Seeker,” he quipped with a smirk as they headed up the slope of the bank, back toward the path leading to the forward camp. Cassandra made a disgusted noise as she sheathed her sword.

Demons continued to be spewed forth as the Breach expanded. Jasper was driven to his knees each time, blinded with pain, body going rigid without his say-so. It was humiliating to pick himself up, out of breath, unable to control himself. The mark on his hand expanded a few millimeters each time, toward the edges of his palm. It hissed angrily as he cut down demons, as if it sensed kin in those unearthly creatures.

They came upon a group of soldiers fighting demons that were continuously popping out of a hole in the air, hovering a few feet above their heads. It was like the Breach, but smaller. A tear in reality. Jasper was surprised to see a mage fighting among them, casting barrier spells over himself and Cassandra as they entered the fray.

When most of the demons had been cut down, the mage, a rather dodgy-looking bald elf, grabbed Jasper by the wrist, rather shocking him into obedience. His left hand was shoved unceremoniously toward the rift, and at first nothing happened. Jasper was about to give the mage what-for for manhandling him without even a howdy-do. But then the rift seemed to jolt suddenly, and Jasper felt a horrific, burning, tearing pain like nothing else. A band of energy seemed to leap between his hand and the rift, like a bolt of lightning, and Jasper cried out as the pain became too much, the edges of his vision blurring—

And then it was gone. The rift folded in on itself until it disappeared altogether with an almighty _pop_ , leaving little sparks of Fade-stuff floating to the snowy ground.

The pain ebbed back rapidly, leaving Jasper rather lightheaded and short of breath. He leaned on the other elf as he collected himself, running a hand through his messy curls.

“My theory seems to have been proven right, Seeker,” the elf said with a rather nauseatingly pleased tone to his voice. Jasper grimaced as he took a step away to stand on his own, straightening his rather mucked-up armor as he did so. Really, someone had pulled a number on his once-pristine armor. He would have to get something new to replace it with, if he survived this ordeal.

“Well, goodie,” said a dwarf as he examines his rather peculiar crossbow. Jasper blinked at him, not having noticed the man until then. Now that he saw him though, with the crossbow and the chest hair and the gold, it was rather hard not to notice him. “And here I was thinking we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

Jasper quirked a smile. That was a good line. He himself would use it later, no doubt. “Unfortunately, with that big thing up there in the sky, we’re not quite clear of that notion yet.” The four of them took a moment to blink up at it. It was like a roiling storm cloud out on the sea. But with the added bonus of demons. “Right. How are we supposed to close that bugger?”

The elven mage stepped forward. “My hypothesis is that the mark on your hand can close the Breach, as well as the rifts spawned from it. It appears, so far, that I was correct.”

Jasper eyes the poorly dressed elf. No Dalish markings. But he didn’t look like a rebel mage, and there was no way he was a city elf. So what was he doing in Haven? An apostate, perhaps, one that had escaped the Circle before rebellion began? “Oh, that sounds like a picnic. Can’t wait.”

“We must hurry to the forward camp,” Cassandra reminded them. “From there, we can move forward to the temple. Come, elf.” Jasper rankled at the term, but he realized he’d never introduced himself. And he had no plans of doing so.

The dwarf chuckled. “And how many demons do you think you’re gonna manage to cut down on your own, Seeker?” he asked with a slight mocking edge to his voice. “Your soldiers are exhausted and hardly in fighting condition. I, on the other hand, have been cooped up in that cell for far too long. You need me.” He winked, almost comically, and the look of absolute disgust on Cassandra’s face nearly had Jasper splitting a gut.

“Whatever!” the Seeker spat. “Help us, then. Just stop talking.”

They fell in line together, an elven mage, a rogue-trained elf, a dwarf, and a specially trained warrior human. Not the weirdest band of folks Jasper had worked with. Points for trying, though.

“Nice crossbow,” Jasper offered as he and the dwarf trudged up the snow-sludged hill.

“That’s my Bianca,” the dwarf said with an affectionate pat to the weapon. “Beauty, she is.”

Jasper raises one delicate, bisected and pierced eyebrow but said nothing. “I’m assuming you have a name as well, master dwarf?”

He grinned. With a flourish of a bow, he announced, “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

Jasper returned the bow with a bit of pomp and flair, nose nearly brushing the icy earth. Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Jasper, most recently of Denerim, at your service, Master Tethras. From where do you hail?”

“Kirkwall,” he answered gruffly.

“Yikes,” was all Jasper could say.

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the mage interjected, smiling softly down at Jasper, with a slight undercurrent of smugness. It rather smarted that the mage was taller than he was, considering he was still an elf. This Solas was taller than many humans. “I am pleased to see that you still live.”

Jasper blinked. Not everyone had his stellar social skills, of course. “Well. That makes two of us, I suppose. Though I’m sure that may change once the witch-hunt begins after I either manage, or fail, to close the Breach.”

“I studied the mark on your hand while you were unconscious,” Solas explained. “After the initial explosion, you fell out of a rift, right into the center of the temple.”

Jasper mulled that over uncomfortably, biting his lip, avoiding the ring looping it. He had fallen out of one of these shitty holes? How? He didn’t remember clambering up into one. He would have had to be far drunker than he had ever been in order to attempt something as stupid as that. “Ah,” was all he said aloud.

They lapsed back into silence as they approached a tall gate, two huge, heavy wooden doors chained shut over it. Hovering outside it was another rift, spitting and crackling. This time, Jasper braced himself for the inevitable pain that would come. With the help of the few remaining soldiers outside the gate, they cut through the demons, their ichor sizzling the snow where it hit. Jasper winced in pain as he swiped a bit of it off his cheek. Then he threw his left hand up toward the rift, gritting his teeth against the pain that greeted him when like met like. The bizarre cord of energy the spanned the space between him and the rift was almost beautiful, in a way. Almost.

Jasper kept his feet under him as the rift sprung closed, but he still felt terribly winded. His left arm was trembling, and he tightened his grip on the borrowed dagger to try to hide it, keeping his distance from the rest of them.

“Open the gates!” Cassandra called as she sheathed her sword and shield.

The chains were unlocked and the doors swung inward, revealing a wide stone bridge, dotted here and there with supply crates, wounded soldiers, and groups of soldiers huddled together. Many of them stopped to survey the ramshackle group now entering what Jasper feared was what was passing as a forward camp. The hatred burning in the eyes of these soldiers as they stared at Jasper unnerved him a tad. He didn’t like his odds of escape on a bridge.

Cassandra led them toward a makeshift table off to the side, where her companion Leliana awaited them. She was the hooded woman who had been in the dungeon when Jasper had come to earlier that day. She still wore her purple hood, concealing her fair features. She was obviously arguing with the man next to her, a rather short figure in weather-worn Chantry robes. The man’s face turned beet-red when Jasper approached.

“Apprehend him!” the man ordered no one in particular. The nearby soldiers glanced at him, then to Leliana and Cassandra. It was obvious who was _really_ calling the shots here. The cleric looked around in shock when no one moved. “This man is a terrorist, murderer of the Divine! As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I demand that he be arrested immediately and transported to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

That made Jasper tug a bit at his collar. Execution had been something more than one pomped-up authority figure had threatened him with during his time on Thedas. And while he had no intentions of being killed any time soon, he rather disliked his odds fighting against the little ramshackle army that the Inquisition called theirs. Not to mention that he was, once again, on a bridge.

Cassandra’s face was drawn in a look of utmost contempt and disgust. “You are a glorified clerk, a beaurocrat, Chancellor Roderick. You demand nothing.”

“And you are a _thug_!” the chancellor spat back at her. “But a thug that supposedly serves the Chantry.”

Cassandra looked ready to sever Roderick’s head from his spinal column, but Leliana stood between them, subtly separating them. He doubted the chancellor knew that Leliana was preserving his life at that moment. “We serve the Divine, as you well know, Chancellor,” Leliana said with a voice laced in ice. Or maybe she stood between them so she could have first-pick at killing this prick.

The back and forth continued for way too long. The chancellor was going crazy with power, despite the fact that he wasn’t high-ranking enough to have been housed inside the Temple of Sacred Ashes. All he wanted was to hold a fucking election, so they could figure out what to do, when there was a literal hole in the sky, spewing demons with terrifying frequency. He wanted them to beat a retreat, to hide, to allow the demons to overrun the mountain.

Jasper had no interest in fighting demons, of course, but he knew it was a matter of time before they spread out across all of Thedas and destroyed all living creatures. Unfortunately, Jasper was a living creature in Thedas, so that boded unwell for his health.

Cassandra wanted to march forward to the temple, charge with the soldiers. Leliana wanted them to take the mountain pass, which she claimed was safer, despite the fact that it was snowing and they had lost contact with a squad of agents up there. The two women were facing off, keeping their tone civil, but obviously at odds with each other. If they didn’t work for the same woman, Jasper was sure they wouldn’t have ever worked together.

Then the Breach surged, widening at the edges, more demons being belched forth from its hungry maw. Jasper gasped, unprepared for it this time. He was able to keep his feet, but just barely, grabbing his left wrist with his right, hunched over it in pain. He clenched his teeth as the Breach calmed and his mark stopped spitting and flaring. The edges were raw, screaming with pain even as he straightened back up. Shocks of green energy kept leaping out from it intermittently, smarting rather acutely, but Jasper just frowned at it, trying not to betray how painful it was.

There was silence as they all turned to stare at Jasper. Fear, compassion, worry, hatred. He saw all those emotions reflected in the eyes of the small group around him. Cassandra stepped in front of him, holding eye contact with him.

“How do _you_ think we should proceed?” she asked, shocking all of them.

“Me?” Jasper asked, lips quirking upward in disbelief. “A moment ago, I was simply ‘prisoner,’ my dear Seeker.”

“You have the mark,” Leliana said softly as her calculating gaze raked over him.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra conceded. “Since we cannot make a decision on our own…”

Jasper blinked at them all. No one said anything. Maker, they were really asking for _his_ opinion. Usually, people only cared what he had to say when they were on the other end of his blade. This was a first. He took a breath. “I say we charge,” he decided, staring at the Breach. “I doubt I’ll survive long enough for your shitty trial, anyway, Chancellor. No time like the present, eh?”

“Leliana,” Cassandra said. “Bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

Jasper swallowed and followed Cassandra as she trudged up the snow-covered path toward the temple. Solas and Varric followed behind him, quiet. They passed by injured soldiers, dead soldiers, piles of debris, small fires. There was blood everywhere, death everywhere. Jasper did not care much for anyone who wasn’t funding him, feeding him, or fucking him, but even this display was enough to twinge his heartstrings. Whatever monster had caused this was really quite a piece of work.

What looked to be the remaining structure of the temple loomed before them. It was just the front door, with some partial walls, and steps leading up to them. Jasper climbed up the steps, drawing his daggers as the sounds of fighting reached them. On the other side of the door, in what must have previously been a vestibule, were dozens of demons, being fended off by the few soldiers still on their feet. A rift glowed above them, spawning ever more demons.

They cut down the demons and Jasper shut the rift, something he was hoping would soon be a thing of the past. The soldiers looked relieved, exhausted, barely standing. One of them, wearing different garb than the rest, jogged over to Cassandra, removing his helmet as he did. Jasper eyed him warily, from his messy blond curls to the furry mantle upon his shoulders to his blood-spattered boots. He was attractive in a rugged, golden-boy sort of way, a bit pasty for Jasper’s taste, though.

“You can close the rifts?” the man, Commander Cullen, according to Cassandra, said with disbelief. Jasper nodded, raising his left hand, which still glowed, with a slight grin and a wiggle of his fingers. “Well, I hope you’re able to close the Breach, too. We’ve lost a lot of good men keeping you alive.”

Jasper disliked the man’s tone. As if it was his problem. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” The biting edge to his tone was lost on no one. They were afloat in too many unknown variables.

Cullen nodded. “The way forward to the temple proper should be clear. Leliana will meet you there.”

They followed what was formerly a corridor, facing no more demons along it. However, there were so many dessicated corpses, every feature obliterated by the fires that had ensued after the explosion. They were practically mummified. The stench of burning flesh turned Jasper’s stomach, and he kept his focus on the ground directly ahead of him. His hand started to spark, though, and he looked upward to see a rift floating a few storeys above the ground, a beam of energy connecting it to the Breach above.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade,” Cassandra said solemnly. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you.”

They moved forward through the burning, crumbling remains of the temple. Jasper eyed the chunks of red crystals growing in clumps around the temple. He was certain those hadn’t been there before the explosion, though he couldn’t remember. Heat emanated from them. Something about the crystals put him off, and he kept his distance, especially when Varric cursed softly under his breath and said to mind the red stuff.

Leliana set her scouts to take position around the temple perimeter, while the close-combat soldiers met Jasper, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas in the center below the rift. As they moved toward it, a thunderous, echoing voice boomed through the space, making Jasper’s hair stand on end. He stared around, looking for the speaker, but it seemed to be coming from the rift itself.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, a small amount of fear in her voice.

“At a guess, the voice of the one who created the Breach,” Solas supplied.

“Doesn’t sound like me in the slightest, does it?” Jasper offered.

The voice kept speaking as they entered the courtyard, something about a sacrifice. And then, the voice of the Divine, according to Cassandra. The shock, the momentary hope in her voice. It was painful to hear, since they all knew there was no way Divine Justinia could have survived. Sure, Jasper survived, but that was...a fluke. Any other survivors would’ve been found by now.

They were in the center now, and Jasper stopped short when he heard his _own_ voice echoing ominously in the clearing. The Divine was calling out to him for help. He was asking what the dickens was going on. Maker, if maybe he hadn’t been so flippant...The thought was ended abruptly by the pain spiking in Jasper’s hand as the rift pulsed. He sucked in a breath and watched as shadows of figures, floating in the air below the rift, appeared. One was of a woman, the Divine, obviously, judging by her Chantry clothes. The other...was not human. It wasn’t any sort of animal Jasper had ever seen either. It was something not natural.

And then the shadow of Jasper himself, running into the fray. Then the shadows dissipated into the atmosphere, and Jasper blinked. What were they seeing?

“Echoes of reality,” Solas guessed. “The Veil is thin here.” He turned to face Jasper. “The rift here is closed, but not sealed. We will have to tear it open and close it properly, and hopefully that will in turn close the Breach.”

Jasper nodded. “Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? As long as we don’t run into whoever opened the Breach. He didn’t seem like the fun type.”

“Are you ready, prisoner?” Cassandra asked as she drew her sword, shifting her grip on her shield.

He didn’t really have a choice, did he? He was just a prisoner. “As ready as I’ll ever be, my dear Seeker.” He thrust his hand upward toward the rift, and it took a moment this time before the connection established itself. The cord of energy stretched between him and rift, and the rift itself started shifting, folding in on itself, then expanding. Jasper grit his teeth, feeling rather powerless as all this unfamiliar energy surged through his body. Was this how wielding magic felt? He couldn’t control the mark; it just did what it wanted to. So it was hesitant to open the rift. Or perhaps it picked up on Jasper’s apprehension.

After a moment, the rift exploded open, knocking Jasper backwards off his feet. He landed in a winded heap on the ground, bruised and badgered. He quickly regained himself, watching his companions gather their wits as something seemed to be moving in the Fade on the other side of the rift. Something massive, something with a deep growl.

“Prepare yourselves!” Cassandra called to the dozen or so soldiers around them. Jasper saw Leliana, bow and arrow in hand, and Commander Cullen with his sword and shield and lion helmet. They were solemn as something began to crawl out of the rift; not unafraid, but willing to face whatever came out of the rift. “And protect the prisoner!”

That brought some measure of relief to Jasper, although he wasn’t sure he would survive closing the Breach, anyway, so it didn’t much matter, did it?

The thing that was spat out from the rift was nightmarish. It was _huge_ , easily the largest creature Jasper had ever faced. He’d heard rumors of the darkspawn ogres, but this was bigger, he was sure. And it had so many _eyes_ , and horns, and a fucking electric whip, for Maker’s sake. Jasper usually rather liked whips, but not when they could fry him in his skin. And when the demon laughed, it chilled Jasper’s blood in his veins, every hair standing on end.

“Pride demon!” Solas identified.

Jasper swallowed. He didn’t much care what kind of demon it was. A dead demon was the only good demon.

Cassandra and Cullen were the first ones to regain their wits and charge at the demon, drawing its attention. The demon just laughed, though, and Jasper was frozen in his spot as the others joined Cassandra and Cullen, or started launching their ranged attacks. Solas and Varric stuck to the perimeter, not quite out of range from the whip, but far enough from any other attacks.

“Laila was right,” Jasper muttered under his breath. “Should’ve learned archery instead.”

He shadow-stepped closer to the demon, drawing his shoddy dual daggers. He drove them into the back of the pride demon’s legs, throwing all his weight behind them. The demon roared and Jasper pulled back, rolling to avoid a strike from the electric whip. He kept dodging attacks, unable to shake the demon’s attention. Maybe it sensed the mark, its kin, after all.

Cassandra released a powerful yell that drew the monster’s attention for a moment, and Jasper took the opportunity to stab it in the back with his dagger, then drew them out one at a time and plunging them higher up on the thing’s body, into the spaces between its natural stony armor, slowly pulling himself higher up its body. The pride demon roared its displeasure, shaking from side to side to dislodge Jasper, but he held tight. The scent of death and ozone was strong in his nose, but he ignored it, carefully picking his way upward.

The beast’s attempts to shake Jasper became more aggressive. It started swatting at him, and he knew it would take just one swipe from those massive claws to end his life then and there. Still, he would rather die memorably than stupidly, so he had no plans of dying at the hand of this demon. The Breach could take his life.

Once he reached its shoulders, Jasper stabbed a dagger into its throat, jimmying it back and forth, hot, burning ichor spurting out over his hand. He screamed with the pain, but kept at it, driving the blade of his other dagger into the other side of its neck, downward. The demon roared, a raw sound that nearly had Jasper shitting himself. It fell to one knee, making it easier for the other soldiers to attack it. Jasper jabbed the dagger back in at two different points, twisting and stabbing until the monster finally fell over with a growl. Jasper leapt off its corpse, covered in its blood, out of breath and in rather quite a bit of pain himself. A moment later, the corpse was reabsorbed by the rift.

“Quick, before any more demons come through!” Solas ushered, waving toward Jasper.

Jasper dropped his two daggers as he faced the rift and the Breach above it. He thrust his left hand out, and the mark leapt to life, burning and spitting with a savage energy. He grit his teeth against the pain, eyes tearing up as he couldn’t stay standing any longer. He fell to his knees, unable to rip his hand away from the beam of power. The rift was contorting menacingly, horrible figures in its depths, watching them. He squeezed his palm into a fist, and the rift collided shut with a tremendous bang, sending Jasper flying backwards. His vision was white, and then black, and he didn’t really care enough to know if he was dying or not. He just wanted a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And welcome to the shitshow! Jasper is a piece of shit, and I love him dearly, but I'm telling you here and now to have LOW expectations for him.
> 
> Anyway. I love feedback, as does everyone, but I really want y'all to enjoy this because I'm living for this fic. I've written, like, approximately 20 chapters already? I'll be uploading them as I edit them. PLEASE give me advice and opinions on what YOU want to see!!! I'll try and work it into the plot ;) Any specific kinks or funny ideas or dialogue prompts. I can't wait.


	2. Where the Fuck are the Rings?

Jasper couldn’t remember the last time he had a room this big all to himself. He awoke in a single-room cabin, with a reasonably comfortable bed, a trunk with clothes, and a desk and chair. There was a small fire burning in the fireplace, keeping the cabin cozy. Jasper looked down at himself, the shirt and trousers that he did not remember changing into himself. He never slept _just_ in pajamas, with no dagger or armor. It was either fully armored, or bare-ass naked. No in-betweens.

Jasper changed into the clothes left in the trunk. He wasn’t sure if they were for him, but they fit reasonably well, so he didn’t care. Not quite his style, rather lumpy and shapeless, doing no favors for his arse, but he could do worse. It could be bikini armor. Which he would pull off very well, for the record.

There was a folded letter on the table with his name written on the outside. He recognized that much, at least. He opened it and skimmed the words, pretending to read it, then tossed it aside dismissively. He didn’t care for notes.

Jasper wandered out of the cabin, shivering in the frigid air. He was glad for the thick armor, now, and the boots, even if they did feel a tad worn. He took a deep breath of air as he remembered the events of the last several days. The Conclave. The explosion. His imprisonment - which seemed to be over now - and subsequent closing of the Breach. The _Breach_ , for Andraste’s sake...how did something like that happen?

He looked up at the sky. The Breach was still there, but it was no longer boiling and spitting. No more demons spawning. No more rifts appearing. Just a scarred heaven.

Thank the Maker for that. That meant the Inquisition would have no more use of him. He appreciated the cabin, the clothes, and that they hadn’t just left him to rot in the temple, but he had things to do, people to see. There was no point in sitting around now that his duty was fulfilled. He paused briefly, glancing toward where the temple had been. He wondered where his former companions had been, his fellow bandits. He didn’t remember them being arrested; they’d all scattered when the soldiers bearing an unknown crest apprehended them as they were hustling travellers on the road to Haven. A man couldn’t make an honest living anymore.

The thought twinged, slightly. Just for a moment. Ah, well, if they’d died, another one bites the dust. At least it wasn’t him.

He pulled his hood up and allowed himself to stick to shadows, following the rest of the villagers and scouts throughout the town. He followed the path toward the gates, which were propped open with a few guards watching the road. Supplies were being carted in on wagons pulled by oxen and brontos. Several scouts were coming and going, walking purposefully. Jasper let himself blend in and slipped out the gates, onto the road down the mountain and into the wilderness. There were hardly any villages near Haven, just a few inns along the road for the pilgrims.

He thought it had really been that easy to leave Haven. He should’ve known better. Should’ve known that the Seeker and the Left-Hand of the Divine would be watching him. He was apprehended at the bend in the road, less than a mile from Haven, by a couple of Leliana’s scouts.

“Don’t you have to frisk me?” he asked as they flanked him, directing him back up the mountain pass with firm hands on his arms. “To make sure I’m not dangerous?”

“The Nightingale simply instructed us to make sure you didn’t get too far when you tried to escape,” one of them said simply, eyes set ahead. _When, not if._

“I expected more resistance, honestly,” the other commented with a slight smirk.

“I’ll keep that in mind, my dear,” Jasper quipped with a grin. “Really, though. I’m fairly certain frisking is protocol.”

“The Nightingale warned that you’d bring that up,” the first scout sighed. “We are not to frisk you, no matter how much you beg.”

Jasper sighed sadly. “What a shame. I’ll need to have a talk with your Nightingale - that’s Sister Leliana, correct?”

They both nodded, then fell silent. Leliana was a bit of a killjoy, wasn’t she? How was Jasper supposed to get his rocks off with someone like her poking her nose into his private business? That would be a problem. They would definitely need to talk.

The gates of Haven loomed before them moments later, and then Jasper was being foisted up the path through the town, and into the chantry building. It was dim inside, only a few sconces lighting the interior. It was a little warmer, at least, than the wintry season outside. Sparsely furnished: there were a couple of statues of Andraste, holding lit braziers, and a threadbare rug down what was the center aisle, except there were no more pews. This was where most of the supplies coming up the mountain were being hoarded, apparently.

The two scouts stopped outside a door at the far end, which was flanked with two stony-faced guards. Jasper winced at the shouting coming from the other side of the door. He looked at the two scouts, silently pleading that they wouldn’t leave him to this alone. They were gone, already, however, soundlessly disappearing. Jasper cursed under his breath and stared at the heavy wooden door before pushing it open.

It was Chancellor Roderick shouting, of fucking course. Jasper threw the door open and sauntered inside. “Oh, shut up, would you, Roddy? Can’t be good for your health.”

Jasper heard Cullen stifle a laugh behind a gloved hand even as the rest of them paused in shock. One of the women, a bronze-skinned lady bedecked in gold and ruffles, even gasped. Jasper really didn’t care, he was just tired of the chancellor. If his lack of filter shut the chancellor up for a few moments, he would spew all sorts of inappropriate nonsense.

Roderick recovered quickly. “Seize him!” he hollered at the guards standing at the door. The guards looked at each other uncertainly, shifting. “This man is a criminal! A terrorist! He must be arrested and sent to Val Royeaux for trial and execution!”

“Disregard him,” Cassandra said dryly to the guards, shutting the door.

Leliana stepped forward, and Jasper eyed her suspiciously. She seemed to know more about him than she was letting on, based on what information she already had on him, considering he’d been mostly unconscious for the last several days. She very subtly insinuated to the chancellor that he was a suspect, more so than Jasper was, and his behavior was not helping the matter.

“So - you think this _elf_ \- this _heretic_ \- just appeared here by coincidence?” Roderick sputtered. “His mark - being at the Conclave -”

“Providence,” Cassandra corrected. “He was sent to us by the Maker in our time of need.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Jasper interrupted, eyes wide. “I don’t remember that bit happening - I would’ve remembered that, I think.”

“We need you,” Cassandra said, a gleam in her eyes. Jasper knew that look. It was in the eyes of the devoted. It was not a reassuring look. “The Breach remains. It is not closed, simply calmed. There are many rifts in the wilderness that we have no way of closing without you. And there is the matter of _who_ caused the explosion - they are still out there. And the mages and templars are running amok. We must act, and we need you.”

“Blasphemy!” Roderick yelped, spittle flying from his mouth. “Blasphemy!”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Old man, if you can’t shut yourself up, I’ll do it for you.” The threat was not as effective when he wasn’t in his usual flashy armor with his brass knuckles and multiple knives, but Jasper doubted Roderick was used to being threatened.

Cassandra and Leliana did glower at Jasper, but not with a terrible amount of vitriol. He was just a little more blunt than they were used to. Cassandra lifted a tome in her hands and let it drop onto the surface of the makeshift table. There was a stylized eye emblazoned on the leather cover, glinting gold, a sword behind it. The group around the table stared at it.

“You are aware of what this is, correct?” Cassandra asked, jabbing a finger on the cover. “This is a writ from the Divine Justinia herself, granting us the power to act where the Chantry has failed.” She looked around at each of them, making eye contact for a moment with everyone around the table before she rose to her fullest height, which was impressive. “From this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

“This is madness!” Roderick hissed.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order and peace,” Cassandra growled, stabbing a finger at Roderick with each statement. Jasper wasn’t going to lie, it was kind of hot. The seeker was a very strong, aggressive woman. Definitely his type, though most people were. “With or without you.”

The chancellor sputtered nonsense for a moment before turning tail and disappearing out the door. The fight seemed to go out of Cassandra, and she leaned heavily on the table. Leliana came around as if to comfort Cassandra, but they did not touch.

“We have no coffers, no numbers, no leader, no Chantry support,” Leliana said evenly, her depressing words seeming rather bland without any emotion backing them up.

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra said with force. Her eyes fell on Jasper. “I was being serious. We do need you. We cannot hope to rebirth the Inquisition without your help.”

Jasper felt uncomfortable with the eyes of the four of them fixed on him. He felt short. “Look, I have no desire to stick around longer than necessary,” he started. “And I’m not exactly...well, I’m not exactly a good example of a child of the Maker, to put it lightly. In fact, I rather dislike the Chantry and the Maker and Andraste and all that tosh. Just so you all know, going into this. And, well, I’m not exactly the most scrupulous of people. I’ve stolen, murdered, even whored myself out on occasion. One of my legs is longer than the other. I don’t floss. Honestly, I don’t think you could’ve been stuck with a worse person. Ah - where was I going with this?

“Right - I’ll stick around to help, since I don’t think I’d get very far before Sister Nightingale drags me back, as long as I get to keep the cabin all to myself. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” He looked around at them all. Where Cassandra’s speech had inspired them all, his seemed to do the opposite. Unsurprising. He didn’t particularly care, did he? “Oh, and a word with Sister Leliana, if you please.”

The last request seemed to surprise them all a bit. Everyone, except the woman herself, that is. The hooded woman nodded, and the others filed out past Jasper with nods of acknowledgment. The door shut firmly, and Jasper was alone with Leliana. The woman was not facing toward him, instead studying - or pretending to - the map spread across the crates that formed the table.

“I take it you’re the one in charge of intelligence-gathering, Sister?” Jasper said. He didn’t really ask it, since it wasn’t much of a question.

She smiled slightly. “That would be correct, Jasper Lavellan.”

Jasper walked around the table, glancing at the map and the few markers upon it. “I would just like to know how much intel you’ve got on me, Sister Leliana. In return, I’ll fill in the gaps myself.” He stopped across from the Free Marches. He pointed at the wilderness between Nevarra and Tevinter. “See there? That’s where I was born, to clan Lavellan, though I have no association with them anymore.”

Leliana turned to face him fully, eyes studying his carefully. Her expression betrayed nothing. Then she gave him a very small smile. “Very well, Herald. I can have a file sent to your cabin detailing everything I’ve learned about you.”

Jasper dithered there for a moment, gnawing his lip, avoiding the ring there. “Well, funny that you mention that, my dear Nightingale. You see - and it pains me to admit this, but I’m sure you’ll receive it with the utmost discretion - but, I cannot read.”

The Seeker seemed genuinely surprised by that, her pale eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. I see. Then we shall go over your file now, I suppose. And I will see to it that this remains between us, Lavellan.”

Jasper was fighting the blush on his cheeks. He hated admitting that. It made him feel like an ignoramus. An idiot. Nothing more than a slave. “I appreciate it, Sister. Shall we get to it?”

Leliana took a book from a shelf. When she opened it, Jasper could see that it was filled with tiny, packed, cramped writing. It was such a messy scrawl that he wouldn’t even have been able to identify it as Common, if he were pressed.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” she allowed, flipping to a page headed with Jasper’s name.

Jasper took a breath, steeling himself for what he was going to find out was available on him. “Perfect.”

***

Not quite perfect, to be honest. Jasper hadn’t been happy with the information laid out before him. This woman, the Spymaster, knew much too much about him for his comfort. She knew about the Tevinter slavers. She knew about the Rose Garden. She knew about the Red Buzzards. And she knew that after a coup within that gang, Jasper was forced to flee with few comrades, and ended up wandering the roads, plundering caravans that belonged to the nobles.

She knew too much, but not quite enough, really.

“You seemed to have done your homework, Spymaster,” Jasper allowed stiffly. “There’s not much to fill in, really. I mean, my former comrades - before the coup - all want me dead, but aside from that, you’re pretty spot on. Oh, and my favorite color is chartreuse.”

Leliana eyed him suspiciously, and he was sure she knew he was withholding information. “Why did you not return to the Dalish, Herald? After you escaped the slavers? And after running away from your gang in Wycome?”

Jasper shrugged. “The Dalish are hard to find when they wish to remain hidden. I simply did not have a chance to find them before I was _employed_ at the Rose Garden. After that, after I joined up with the Red Buzzards, I didn’t care terribly much. I was sure Lavellan had moved on, far away, and most likely assumed I was dead. By then, I was a city-slicker anyway. Why would I want to return to the Dalish? They eat bugs, for goodness sake.”

Leliana was not quite satisfied, but she stopped pushing the subject. “Very well. Do you have any questions?”

Jasper shook his head. “No. You’ve been wonderful, my dear, really. I appreciate this. I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other, yeah?” He grinned as he left, unable to scrutinize the look on the Nightingale’s face. He shivered when he was no longer under her studious glare. That woman was made of ice.

Which meant Jasper had need of something to warm him up. Bless these people, they had a tavern up and running before they even had a leader, or an army. He would expect nothing less of good Fereldans. Although it seemed that out of the four co-leaders of the new Inquisition, only the commander was a Fereldan. Didn’t seem the type of man to drown his sorrows in booze every night.

Then again, guessing one’s vice was not always a precise science. Not everyone was as flippantly obvious as Jasper himself.

There was a red-cheeked woman behind the bar of the nameless tavern. There were a few individuals here and there, but not many at this time of day. Still, since when had Jasper ever cared for propriety? When had he ever followed the five o’clock rule? Never, in case you were wondering. At least, not intentionally.

The woman seemed to start upon seeing him, her eyes widening. Oh, Maker’s arse, she was looking at him with as much awe as the rest of the damned villagers. “Herald!” she greeted in surprise. “Such an honor to see you! My name is Flissa, ser, Sister Nightingale invited me to open a tavern here when the Conclave was called. What may I get for you?”

Jasper offered her his most charming smile, confused by the title. He’d heard a few villagers murmur it as he walked by. “Flissa, my dear. I would love a mug of whatever the strongest swill you’ve got back there is.” She acquiesced immediately, not even batting an eyelash as she dug under the bar and took out a bottle of dwarven ale and a mug. Jasper grimaced at it; he’d never been a fan of dwarven-craft alcohol, rather preferring Antivan, but beggars could not be choosers. He patted his pockets, searching for his coin satchel, panicking when he came up empty.

Shit. These were new clothes. He hadn’t seen anything else in the cabin, though. Had those damned Inquisition start-ups fucking robbed him? He looked at Flissa sheepishly now, running a hand through his long, dark curls, suddenly realizing his rings were all gone, too. He touched his ears, calming a little when he made sure all his earrings were still in place, and the ring through the fleshy bit between his nostrils. He fingered his nostril ring and the stud in his eyebrow. His lip ring was there, he felt it every time he bit his lip.

“Well, my dear,” he sighed. “I seemed to have misplaced my coin purse. Betcha it’s stuck in the Fade somewhere, or...whatever.”

He made to leave, but Flissa unstoppered the ale and was pouring anyway. He paused with a quirked eyebrow. She smiled at him. “‘Tis no trouble, Herald,” she said kindly. “You’ve had a trying several days, I’m sure you could use with a bit of unwinding.”

Jasper grinned. “Oh, my dear Flissa, if you keep talking like that, I may soon be smitten. And then what would people be saying of the Inquisition?”

She blushed, red cheeks going even redder, and handed the mug over with a dimpled smile. “We wouldn’t want that, Herald. So just this once!”

Her scolding was playful, but Jasper ducked his head sheepishly anyway, taking the mug with a muttered thanks and heading to a table tucked in a dusty corner. At least being Herald had a couple of perks: free ale, and plenty of people willing to climb into bed with him. He took a gulp of his ale. Once he had achieved at least a tipsy disposition, he would be sure to try and track down where his shit had wound up. He really hoped it wasn’t in the Fade, as he had no intention of returning any time soon.

***

“My dear ambassador,” Jasper greeted in a sing-song voice as he entered the makeshift office off the main hall of the chantry. The ruffled woman from the earlier meeting was sitting at a desk, poring over lists of parchment. Jasper had asked around to find out who might have a clue where his money and his jewelry was. No one seemed quite sure who would know, but they directed him to Lady Josephine Montilyet’s office. Ambassador of the Inquisition.

“Herald,” Josephine greeted in surprise, straightening up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jasper offered a lopsided grin. “You can drop the pleasantries, my dear,” he assured her. “I really don’t care. I am aware I’m rather less than what you hoped for in a divine herald, or whatever. No need to keep up appearances here. I just have a teensy-weensy question to ask you.” He put his two fingers together to show just how small the question was.

Josephine seemed surprised by his preamble. “Of course, Herald, ask away.”

“My rings and my money all seem to be missing,” he said, getting straight to the point. “I just want to know if they were ‘confiscated’ by the Inquisition when I was arrested.” Oh, how he loved talking in air-quotes.

The ambassador blinked. “I am not aware of any such things happening. In fact, unless your rings or coins were...enchanted, or dangerous, there would be no reason to remove them. I will bring this up to Sister Leliana and see if she can find out. Of course, Herald, if you have any need of money for Inquisition business, as an agent, our coffers are open - once the proper forms have been filled out and approved.”

Jasper sucked on his lower lip and bounced on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s for a very important mission, my dear: to get blackout drunk every chance I get. Very important for my mental health, you see. Ask anyone who knows me. Oh, wait,” he added as an afterthought. “Most of them are dead. Mental health, you know.”

Josephine quirked an eyebrow, fighting her amusement. “Right, Herald. Well, I will see about setting up a tab for you at the tavern. Try not to offend any visiting dignitaries during your binges, please.”

“Offending dignitaries?” he repeated, grinning. “But that’s half the fun!”

Josephine gave him a serious look. “We need all the help and support we can get, Herald. That means inviting any nobles who will accept our offer to see our efforts, and to see that we are not a bunch of heretics. Even if one of our number may be. They are the key to influence. So, please, reserve the urge to offend dignitaries until we are better established.”

Jasper liked her. Pretty, smart, funny. The way she hid her barbs so well. Very Orlesian, even if her nationality was Antivan. Very skilled at the Game, evidently. However, Jasper seriously doubted a noble like herself, one who seemed to pride herself on propriety and etiquette, would allow Jasper to get any closer than he was, across her desk.

“I appreciate everything you’re doing, Lady Josephine,” he said with a flourish of a bow. “Keep an eye out for my rings. They’re sentimental to me.” He inclined his head to her and left again, rubbing his fingers where the rings should’ve been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rings have literally 0 impact on the plot, except that Jasper is a sentimental fucker who really rather likes those rings. Just in case you were wondering. Also, he can and will fuck everyone who consents, so pls prepare yourselves.
> 
> Also, I'm terribly sorry we have to suffer through all this plotty-plot bullshit until the star of the show arrives. We can do it together. Until then, get ready for.....THE HINTERLANDS! Jasper's favorite shithole.
> 
> Talk to me. Give me feedback. Better yet, give me IDEAS.


	3. Fuck the Hinterlands, and the Fallow Mire, Too, For Good Measure

No information about his rings or his money showed up in the days leading up to his very first excursion as an agent of the Inquisition. This was disappointing, as he felt rather naked without his rings. However, he was excited to be getting the hell out of Haven. The place was coming together, of course, due to the combined efforts of Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana, but it was still a bit stifling. Jasper hadn’t stayed in one place for so long in years.

Not that the Hinterlands sounded much better. Jasper hated the south. It was cold, for starters. Jasper had always had rather thin blood. He liked the warmth of the Free Marches. Not that he could ever return there. But maybe Antiva, one of these days. He would consider Tevinter, if he didn’t hate the entire country and all its people with a blind rage, simply on principle.

But the Hinterlands: cold, overgrown, full of rogue templars and desperate mages, ferocious bears and demonic wolves, and so many pathetic refugees. Ah, southern charm, truly. At least, however, the return trip would be on horses, as Horsemaster Dennet seemed sympathetic to their cause, especially once Jasper ran around doing errands for him.

Herald of the Andraste: agent of the Inquisition and errand boy for any random country bumpkin bold enough to ask him to help.

“This isn’t quite what I had in mind,” Jasper panted, wiping the sweat off his forehand after closing another fade rift near the farm, “when Leliana talked about spreading the Inquisition’s influence.”

Cassandra was wiping demon guts off her sword and shield. “Tell me, Herald, which part is not living up to your expectations? The camping in the wilderness? Doing a favor in return for a favor? Hunting for our own food?”

“Hang on,” Jasper said, freezing. “Did we not bring rations for a reason? Why on Thedas would we be hunting our own food?”

Cassandra shook her head at him. “Try living off the rations alone for a week, and then you’ll understand.”

Jasper frowned, cast a glance at Solas and Varric. “Were you two made aware of this? Do any of us even know how to cook?”

The silence that greeted him did not bode well.

“Lovely,” Jasper sighed. He glanced at the sky. “I think we can make it to the Crossroads before sundown, don’t you agree? Meet with this Mother Giselle character. Maybe even get a decent meal, hmm?”

No one put up a fight against that, and off they went, trekking through the hilly terrain of the Hinterlands. They killed so many blighted templars and mages on the way that it was a wonder any remained. But there always seemed to be more.

The Crossroads was depressing, to put it simply and mildly. A bunch of harried, desperate refugees, scared of their own shadows. Children, cheeks sunken, shivering in their threadbare cloaks - if they even wore any. So many grumbling, hungry tummies. Injured and sick people on the side of the road, exposed to the elements, because there was simply nowhere else to put them, and not enough supplies to go around. It was unsafe to go too far to gather elfroot, and any they brought was used up in record time. The few Inquisition soldiers there seemed just as desolate as the people.

“Corporal Vale,” Cassandra greeted one of them. “How are things here?”

The woman turned to face their party, bowing her head with respect, eyes lingering on Jasper. “Not well, Lady Seeker. We’ve run short on everything: healing supplies, bedrolls, tents, blankets, food. If the situation here in the Hinterlands doesn’t change soon, if those damned templars and blasted mages aren’t corralled…” Corporal Vale reigned in her ire, though everyone was thinking the same thing. She sighed. “The villagers are already dying.”

Jasper stepped forward, taking out his map impatiently. “Look here. We rousted a group of rebel mages from this cave here - there should be plenty of blankets and bedrolls there to go around. Maybe rations, healing supplies. Send someone out there to collect it.”

Corporal Vale looked up at Jasper, awestruck. “Herald of Andraste! It’s an honor to meet you - I hadn’t realized - I mean - thank you - your generosity and kindness precedes your reputation, ser.”

Now Jasper was blushing. Honestly, this was just...obvious. They had found a cache of supplies. What point was there in not using it? That was stupid. Of course, he resented running errands, but if the mages were already dead...Why not use their shit? “Don’t mention it. Seriously People don’t need to know that I am, on occasion, nice.”

Vale seemed confused at this, but just nodded. “Thank you, ser.”

From Vale, they moved on to meet with Mother Giselle. She gave them much the same run-down of the situation there. Hungry people, sick people, cold people. Her Orlesian accent was so thick that Jasper could have sliced it in half. He barely understood her, truly; he didn’t have much of an ear for Orlesian. However, he did understand her when she talked about the stupid politicking that all the Chantry members seemed to be involved in currently. As if they could really vote for the new Divine when the world was falling to shit.

“Go to them,” Mother Giselle implored. “They have heard only frightful tales about you. Give them something else to believe.”

Jasper rolled her eyes at her little speech. “As if they give a shit about a non-believer elf. They’ve already made up their minds.”

“Their power is in their unified voice,” Mother Giselle continued, looking out over the Hinterlands. It would’ve been poetic, if there wasn’t blood spilled on every field. “Take that away, and they have nothing. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us - or, destroy us.”

Jasper felt Cassandra’s gaze bore into his skull. He didn’t like that. He knew Cassandra wanted him to be a believer, that it hurt her somewhat to support him as an ardent heretic. But he would not change his standards for anyone, least of all a bunch of zealots.

“I will travel to Haven tomorrow and give Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering,” Mother Giselle said. “The people here should be safe, since you have disposed of so many of the fighting templars and mages.” She nodded to each of them in turn before walking away.

“Fuck,” Jasper groaned. “Does this mean I have to talk to nobles and more stupid clerics?”

Cassandra made a noise that was less disgusted and more in agreement. “Unfortunately, that is likely. If only it were only Chancellor Roderick we had to deal with.”

Jasper laughed. “Ooh, Cassandra, my dear, it almost sounds like you made a joke.”

This time, the sound that came out of Cassandra’s throat was anything but amused.

***

Jasper was fighting very hard not to enjoy the presence of his new companions. Well, at least Varric’s presence. Varric was always quick with a joke or a funny story. Jasper was shit at stories, but he liked listening to Varric and his yarns. Even Cassandra was fun to tease; she was so uptight and was even more reluctant than Jasper was to enjoy their company. It was entertaining to get a rise out of her.

Solas was just a dipshit. Not quite as much of a dipshit as Jasper was, but at least Jasper didn’t blame the elves for their predicament of being oppressed.

“They do not seek to better their conditions,” Solas argued as they trekked over a rise, Varric and Cassandra bickering behind them as well.

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Dude, you might want to see a healer, because your head is so far up your ass that bullshit is coming out of your mouth.” Solas, so steeped in propriety, scowled at Jasper. “You speak as if you’ve never experienced oppression. You can’t just...start demanding equal wages, or better living conditions, or healthcare. You do that, and next thing you know, the townsfolk are storming the alienage trying to ‘purge’ whatever ‘elf-spread’ plague has suddenly cropped up so conveniently.”

“They’ve managed it before,” Solas insisted. “Andraste’s companion, Shartan, was an elf. He was able to secure the Dales for the elves.”

“Yeah, and the humans took that away, too,” Jasper snapped. “What the fuck do you expect me to do? Launch an assault on Val Royeaux in the name of elven glory? Maker’s tits…”

Solas opened his mouth to continue, but Jasper sped his pace, faster and more agile than the others. He crested the top of the hill, grumbling as he cut through the thick underbrush and foliage with a spare dagger that he didn’t mind dulling on greenery. He was barely paying attention to where he was going, until he ended up face-to-face with a hairy face, a bloody maw, and angry little eyes.

“Oh,” Jasper squeaked, freezing on the spot, staring wide-eyed at the huge, angry great bear before him that was tearing into a ram carcass. “Oops.”

He took a slight step back, then another, a growl rippling the bear’s black lips, its yellow teeth flashing with blood. Then Jasper turned tail and ran back the way they’d come, barrelling straight past his companions, who stared after him in shock.

“Herald?” Cassandra called, concerned.

“Bear!” he hollered over his shoulder.

The great bear burst through the trees and pounded down the mountain after them, roaring her anger. Varric and Solas retreated to a safe distance to launch their ranged attacks, and Cassandra leapt back with fright as she pulled out her sword and shield, a snarl on her porcelain features. Jasper rounded a rock and pulled out his dual blades, coating them in poison, as Cassandra demanded the bear’s attention with a warrior-shout of her own.

Fucking hell, the great bears were shit to kill. They seemed to have unlimited stores of stamina and attacked with such ferocity, Jasper almost thought it must be rabid. He hated nature so much right then, as they avoided the swipes of the bear’s massive paws and deadly claws. Jasper was swatted to the side by the beast, and holy fuck did it hurt. Still, he just chugged a healing potion and jumped back into the fray.

When they’d killed it finally, they stood around, staring and panting. “Well,” Varric said. “At least you’re not boring, eh, Herald?”

Jasper laughed weakly. “I’ll take a boring life of luxury with champagne and tiny cakes over this any day.” He sheathed his swords and stretched his back. “Maker’s balls, I haven’t killed something like that in a long time. The pride demon doesn’t count, because that was, like, twenty against one.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and cleaned her sword. “Please do not make this habit, Herald.”

Jasper tutted. “No promises, my dear.”

***

Jasper was glad to be leaving the Hinterlands the next day, after their most pressing errands had been run. He was a little hesitant to be returning to Haven, with so many humans who wanted to use him, but he had to remind himself that this was not the Rose Garden, it was not his past, and he was stronger now, able to protect himself.

Haven was still a little dump, but more and more people were flocking to the village, as if on pilgrimage, and there simply wasn’t room for them all. They overflowed into the valley below like a river in springtime, cropping up like blooms in their tents.

During the debrief soon after their return, Cullen revealed that a number of their scouts had been ambushed and kidnapped by Avvar barbarians, held hostage in a keep deep inside the bog. Jasper cursed up a blue streak, bringing a tint of red to Cullen’s delicate, pasty expression. If Jasper didn’t know better, he wouldn’t think that Cullen had really been a templar, particularly that he had been a recruit at one point. Surely he was used to a bit of cussin’?

“I want to take a bath,” Jasper whined.

“This is really rather a pressing matter, Herald,” Cullen grated. “Time is of the essence. You need to leave post-haste.”

“Not until I’ve had dinner and a bath,” Jasper insisted, folding his arms.

Cullen looked ready to argue, but Josephine jumped in. “There’s no point in leaving tonight anyway. It’ll be safer if they leave tomorrow morning. There is a...well, I suppose it passes as a bathhouse here in the south. We’ve got it mostly functioning now. Feel free to use it, Herald, and I will ensure the cooks keep dinner warm for you.”

Jasper grimaced. “Is the water hot?”

Josephine seemed very interested in her notes suddenly. “Well...sometimes.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “You know, if I were a mage, this would solve my problems, but I’d also end up smoking all you bitches.”

The soft smile on Leliana’s face could have been genuine, but Jasper wasn’t liking those odds. Leliana was next to impossible to read. “Go take your bath, Herald, before Cullen sends you to the bog tonight.”

***

The Fallow Mire was cold and desolate. It was a frigid swamp, constantly plagued by rain, and, of course, the undead. Like the Inquisition could not get any better. Maybe the scouts had run off and joined the Avvar, after being sent some place like this. Jasper would’ve.

Scout Harding was awaiting them at the forward camp on the outskirts of the region, soggy and reticent. She greeted them anyway, though it lacked any sort of cheer. “Welcome, Inquisition. I’m glad you’re here. The situation with the...Avvar has gotten a little more volatile. They haven’t hurt the scouts - as far as we know - but we found out what brought them down the mountainside. They want to fight you. Because you’re the Herald of Andraste.”

Jasper snorted. “Bizarre request, but I’ve fought worse. Plenty of me to go around. Though they’re going to be surprised by how ugly it gets.”

“Well, you’re going to have to fight your way through hordes of undead, demons, and the Avvar in order to get to the castle on the other side of the bog,” Harding continued grimly. 

They trudged through the squelching mud. Most of the Mire was shallow bodies of water, rickety wooden bridges erected to provide somewhat drier travel over the expanses of water. The undead wandered around aimlessly, desiccated bodies practically falling apart in the damp. They couldn’t seem to see very well, but any time Jasper or his companions got too close, the undead would hone in on them like bloodhounds, as if their lifeblood, their energy, their sweat was like a lifeline.

Who thought it was a good idea to build a village in this area? A place that was never truly dry, that bred sickness and disease, where it got so wet you couldn’t even properly burn the dead? A place full of such despair and sadness that demons were drawn to it like moths to a flame?

“I’m ready to go home,” Jasper said after cutting through the undead. They just kept coming at them, even after suffering mortal wounds. Then again, what was a mortal wound to a corpse? They had to blow them to smithereens, cut them up into teeny tiny pieces, utterly eviscerate them, in order to put a stop to their relentless crawl.

“What about the scouts?” Cassandra asked, shocked.

“Fuck the scouts,” Jasper snapped, wincing as he touched a cut on his cheek from a dull arrow. “They got themselves in the mess, then can get themselves out.”

“We cannot leave them - “ Cassandra started, but Jasper cut her off.

“So go get ‘em, tiger,” Jasper said, sheathing his swords. “I’m not going to stop you.”

Varric had an interesting look on his face. Calculative. Jasper nearly forgot that Varric had his own network of spies, and that he had been around the block once or twice. “What about the Avvar, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid,” Jasper sighed with a roll of his eyes. “I’m only a few years younger than you, old man.”

“You gonna answer my question?”

“What the fuck about the Avvar?” Jasper countered. 

“You okay with being challenged like that?” Varric asked. “Having soldiers fighting under your banner being taken? All so they can get a look at you?”

“Stop it with the reverse psychology, Varric, I’m not twelve,” said Jasper witheringly. “However, I sense I won’t be simply allowed to return to camp to await your return. This is just...so much fucking bullshit. Fuck this. Fuck you both.” He pointed at Varric and Cassandra respectively. “Fuck you, too, Solas, just because.”

The mage scowled but said nothing. His distaste for Jasper was palpable. But Jasper hadn’t come here to make friends. No, he hadn’t willingly done any of this. But right now, his odds of survival were slim to none without the Inquisition, so he was using them as much as they used him. So he marched onward with his reluctant companions to rescue this bunch of idiots from the dangerous barbarians.

And so, Jasper ended up being the very reluctant hero in this tale against the odds.

***

The castle really was on the other side of the bog. It took two days to reach, and in that time there were plenty of demons and undead that needed killing. Jasper could barely sleep, it was so cold and damp, even in the tent he shared with Varric. And all they had to eat were the dreaded field rations, since it was nigh impossible to get a fire going, even with Solas’s magical assistance. What Jasper wouldn’t give for a nice, hot cup of tea.

The castle loomed before them eventually, giant chains lining the path to its portcullis. There were a few Avvar warriors awaiting them, but it was less a defense and more a greeting, really. The main event lay inside, deep in the ruined remains of this damp, leaking castle. A huge, hulking man bedecked in furs, leathers, and metal armor awaited the Inquisition. He had an even bigger battle hammer over his shoulder, a spiked maul with bones worked into the handle, blood spattering its flat, blunt edge.

“Herald of Andraste!” the man roared as they entered the large hall, wading through puddles of water. “Face me, for the honor!”

“Uh, pass,” Jasper bargained. “Just, like, would you be a dear and release our scouts?”

The Avvar warrior just roared. “I am the Hand of Korth! Face me!” Jasper could barely respond before the man was swinging his hammer down on them, sending them scattering. Jasper ducked and rolled, landing beside Cassandra, her sword and shield drawn.

“This dude is insane!” Jasper hissed.

“He will be sated by nothing but a glorious death,” Cassandra said. “We must fight him.” She clanged the pommel of her sword against her shield and roared, charging the beast of a man. Maker, he must’ve been the size of a qunari. Cassandra looked so small beside him, but she managed to knock him on his ass with a well-placed strike and a sweeping of her feet.

Solas cast a barrier on them all and Jasper leapt into the fray, cutting and striking at the Avvar’s weak spots. He wore very little proper armor, leaving much skin exposed, but it was tough like leather from such exposure. Jasper was barely whittling him down.

The Avvar laughed. “Is this the might of he they call the Herald of Andraste?”

Jasper frowned, dropping low to avoid the hammer. Jasper slashed at the buckles on his boots, cutting through the worn fabric, slicing at the exposed back of his knees. The shoes started slipping off his feet in the damp, wet environment, making his movements more clumsy - and more erratic. Jasper and Cassandra had to pull some fancy acrobatics to avoid his unwieldy strikes.

“Just die, you dumb fuck!” Jasper snarled as he reemerged from shadow and slid a blade into the man’s side, just above his hip, hoping it struck under his ribcage and hit something vital. Hand of Korth swung around with the hammer and struck Jasper in the gut, sending him flying backwards. He landed heavily on his back, blinking back stars, reaching desperately for a potion to stave off whatever injury he’d sustained. He chugged two potions for good measure and leapt back up, wincing and shuddering at the potent liquid coursed through his veins.

“Come on, you sad sack of shit!” Jasper hollered. Maker, maybe he should’ve been a warrior. His war cries for attention were rather good. “Suck my dick!”

Hand of Korth roared and charged at Jasper, which Jasper had expected but had not prepared for. Thankfully, Cassandra took the opportunity to ram into him from the side, sending the Avvar warrior sprawling in the rainwater. He was up again in a moment, but groggy and dazed. The big man just wouldn’t fucking die.

It was a long, hard fight, but finally the Avvar warrior fell, slowly, dramatically, first to his knees, and then flat on his stomach, giant war hammer still grasped in his hand. Jasper gave a sharp kick to his skull.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed at him angrily. “Eat my shit.”

“He’s dead, Herald,” Varric said with a calming gesture. “He’s not eating anyone’s shit anymore.”

Jasper rolled his shoulder and hissed in pain. “Whatever, Varric, I can dream. If anyone else wants to fight me for being the Herald of Andraste, they can schedule an appointment through Josephine. Maker’s tits, he really fucked up my shoulder.”

“We should get a healer to take a look at you as soon as possible,” Solas suggested. “Unfortunately, the closest one is at the forward camp, and they are simply outfitted for field healing.”

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” Jasper groused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol "bizarre request, but i've fought worse" = "weird flex, but ok"
> 
> Also I feel like this chapter may be a little disjointed, but they were all individual chapters I wrote with no connection to each other, so they're not the smoothest transition. However, I thought it was important to illustrate more of Jasper's character :) My sweet, sweet shithole.
> 
> I'm trying to get through the chapters leading up to Dorian's arrival with some haste, since that's really what we're all here for, of course. I almost made this bit even longer, actually, by adding a prologue of how Jasper ended up at the Conclave in the first place. I explain it a bit, kind of, but if you're interested in a prologue, I can add that separately one day. Although it might really be more of a "prequel" fic.
> 
> Give me compliments. Or insult me that's hot too.


	4. Fuckin' Val Royeaux, Am I Right?

Jasper was delighted to be leaving the Fallow Mire with a freshly healed shoulder, but he would return immediately and live out the rest of his days in a mud hut to avoid travelling to Val Royeaux. He hated nobles. He hated the Chantry. He hated the pomp and veiled lies and half-truths that were second nature to Orlesians. He hated the ruffles and the fucking masks, for Andraste’s sake. What was the point of them? Why would you want to live without any peripheral vision? For shits and giggles?

The one thing he liked were the fancy little cakes. Too expensive, of course, but so delightful in their tininess. Oh, and the wine. He liked the wine. But Varric kept steering him away from any bars or pubs.

“Come on, Marshmallow,” Varric said gently. “Let’s maybe not get blackout drunk until _after_ the meeting with all the important people who can make or break the Inquisition.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Jasper barked out, laughing. “Marshmallow? Is that your new nickname for me? Where’d you get that from?”

“Well,” Varric drawled, grinning. “Because you put on this tough-guy routine with the hair and the piercings and tattoos and daggers. But you’re really a big softie on the inside, aren’t you?”

“I am offended,” Jasper insisted, sniffing with indignance. “I _am_ a tough-guy son of a bitch. There is no marshmallow on the inside, no pillows or clouds or rainbows. Just barbed wire.”

Varric laughed. “Look, it was that, or Spiky. Because of all the piercings, you know? And the daggers. By the way, how many do you have? Piercings, that is.”

Jasper grinned, the obvious lip ring stretching along. “Do you really want to know?”

“When you phrase it that way, Herald, I’m not sure I do,” Varric hedged warily.

Jasper laughed. “You know you can just call me by name, right? None of this posturing business.”

Varric smiled. “Sure thing, Fluffy.”

“I’ll allow it,” he eased. “For the book you’re writing, by the way, it’s twenty-one individual piercings.”

Jasper grinned as Solas, Cassandra, and Varric all paused to slow into step with Jasper, studying his ears and face for piercings, curiosity getting the better of them. There were...ten different kinds of earrings glittering in his elongated, pointed ears. Did it hurt to pierce elf ears? Jasper would never tell. And then...one in his nostril, one in his septum, one in the bridge - Maker. One in his eyebrow, where it was bisected by an old battle scar. And of course the one on his lip. Where were the other six?

“If the three of you are quite done gawking rudely, I do believe we’ve arrived.” Jasper nodded toward where there was a stage erected in the middle of the town square, a woman in Chantry robes standing atop it, her voice carrying all the way to them. “Ah, another member of the clergy to rail against me. Lovely.”

Cassandra clapped his shoulder briefly, and Jasper was proud he did not flinch. She was stronger than she seemed. “We do not have much choice, Herald. Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach.”

Jasper straightened his shoulders. “Inspiring, Seeker, truly.”

They kept walking forward. A noblewoman gasped and shrieked at the sight of them, running in fear. Jasper shared a glance with his three companions.

“I’m guessing they know who we are,” Varric quipped.

“We don’t exactly blend in easily,” Jasper murmured with a shrug. “At least I won’t be confused for a servant. Probably.”

“There are templars on the stage as well, Herald,” Solas pointed out, sounding worried. Jasper had heard of their legendary ability to silence magic; he wondered if Solas had ever experienced it. “Be wary.”

“Templars?” Varric repeated worriedly. “Here? Have they returned to the fold of the Chantry, then?”

No one answered him. Neither answer was not good.

As they approached the stage, the woman standing atop it smirked with smugness. She picked up her rant where she’d left off. “You wonder what will become of the murderer of the Divine? Well, wonder no more. Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! We say this is a false prophet - the Maker would send no _knife-ear_ in our hour of need!”

Jasper grit his teeth together, gloved fingers itching toward the handles of his dagger. Josephine had emphasized, however, that they were _not to shed blood_ unless attacked first. _Attacked_ , she had stressed that word. Not _provoked_. She knew Jasper well, even if they’d only known each other a handful of weeks.

“ _I_ didn’t start calling myself the Herald of Andraste,” Jasper said defensively, voice carrying throughout the market square. “The people did. They did so because I - and the Inquisition - are the only ones acting in their favor! We seem to be the only ones without our heads up our arses. You - the Chantry - failed them. They turned elsewhere for hope.”

Since when did he start referring to the Inquisition as “we”?

“It’s true!” Cassandra called out. The titters following Jasper’s little speech died down. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“It is already too late!” the cleric on the stage cried dramatically as a group of a dozen templars approached the stage, climbing the steps. “The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face the Inquisition, and the people will be safe once more!”

The templars didn’t seem to hear her. Jasper watched with shocked amusement as one of them cocked back his arm and hit her over the head, knocking her to the floor. Jasper knew it was probably bad form to be laughing, but he couldn’t help it. The bitch deserved it, didn’t she? Either way, she would earn no sympathy from him.

Cassandra had started forward. “Lord Seeker Lucius!” she said, seeming to know the man. A fellow Seeker? Jasper wondered just how many there were. “It is imperative we speak with - “

“You will not address me,” he spat, cutting her off. “Creating a heretical movement. Raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine!”

Cassandra was blinking with incredulity at the man before her. Jasper folded his arms as he surveyed the silver-haired Seeker. What a righteous asshole. He really hoped they didn’t have to side with the templars, if they were all this dickish.

“I will make the Templar Order one that stands alone against the Void,” Seeker Lucius continued. “We deserve independence, and recognition. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march! To Therinfall Redoubt!”

Jasper watched with polite amusement as the group of templars paraded out the gates of the city, leaving shocked nobles and clerics in their wake. “Well,” Jasper said softly, picking at his nails. “I’m sure that could’ve gone better. Not bad for my first foray into politics, though, eh?”

They approached the cleric who was still prone on the stage, cradling her head as a few other clerics fretted about her, offering prayers to their god. Jasper rolled his eyes. This was exactly the sort of bullshit that bugged him out with religion, any religion. Jasper didn’t like the idea of something else being responsible for his decisions, his fate. If he was gonna do something reckless and stupid, it was because he wanted to, not because some other being was leading him. And this whole prayer thing? What good would that do for a head injury? The woman needed a healer, not prayers.

“Come to gloat, Inquisition?” she asked groggily from the ground. “This must please you greatly. You forced our hand, and now we have been shown-up by our own templars, in front of everyone! And my fellow clerics are scattered to the winds, along with their convictions.”

“Maybe your first mistake was treating the templars like a bunch of objects that belong to you, rather than the individual humans they are,” Jasper spat with sudden venom. “I know, it’s a difficult notion to wrap your mind around - self-awareness? What’s that? Yes, I really do mean to tell you that the templars are real people, with emotions and desires. It was truly only a matter of time before they revolted. Shame it coincided with the whole mage debacle, but what can you expect when you remove all signs of individuality from two highly pressured populations, create a fabricated opposition between them, and then _stick them together in the same space_?”

The woman glared up at him, but she didn’t retort. Jasper was right, but she would never admit it. This was a powder keg waiting to explode from the moment Circles were erected, mages imprisoned and hunted, and templars created. Each faction fed off the discord, the animosity, the friction, the fear and aggression of the other. They were more alike than they were inclined to think. Jasper knew that people like Leliana believed mages were too restricted. He agreed with her. He’d worked with apostates in the past, and they were perfectly capable of self-governance. But that wasn’t the only issue. The templars were kept at an impossibly high standard. They were taught to believe mages were their enemies rather than their charges. They were bound to leashes held by the Chantry, dependent on the lyrium that the Chantry controlled with a tight fist. What sort of templar could rebel when the only other option was withdrawal and eventual, inevitable, death?

“Tell me one thing, Herald,” the woman said finally, when Jasper was about ready to call it quits. “If you do not believe you are chosen by the Maker, then what do you believe?”

Jasper contemplated this as he looked around at the fear-stricken people in the square. Here in this gilded city, where you couldn’t even see the Breach except as a small speck on the horizon, there was fear and helplessness, hopelessness. And in Antiva, and Nevarra, and even Tevinter. He glanced towards his boots. “That,” he said with pause, scuffing the toe of his boot against the wooden stage, “is a very good question. I’ll put it this way, Revered Mother. I believe in no one but myself and my companions. Everyone else can go to the Void, for all I care.”

The cleric did not seem surprised by the admission itself, but perhaps she was surprised by his blatant honesty. Either way, Jasper wasn’t going to hang around. This cleric wasn’t worth his company. He turned on his heel and left the stage, glaring at the nobles who were staring at him and tittering behind their gloved hands. They flinched away from his look, whispers becoming more furious. Oh, Jasper was sure he would get an earful from Josephine and Leliana when he got back to Haven.

They were just leaving the market square when Jasper froze, ears pricking. He was about to call out to his companions, who had kept walking, oblivious, that they should get down - then an arrow whizzed just past his face, nicking his cheek slightly before it lodged itself in the wall ahead of him. He ducked and felt a barrier spread over him as the others leapt into defensive positions, Cassandra stepping in front of Jasper with her shield. But no further assault came.

Jasper straightened, waving off Cassandra as he approached the arrow stuck in the wall, still quivering with the force of its journey. Jasper touched his cheek, which stung, and his fingers came away with blood. He glanced around at the rooftops, sure it must’ve come from a high vantage point, due to the trajectory. If they were only looking for Jasper’s attention and had not intended to kill him, it was a nice shot. Otherwise, it was absolute rubbish and he was rather disappointed.

“There’s a note,” Jasper pointed out, crouching to tear it free of the arrow. He glanced at it, pretending to read, before handing it to Cassandra. She was the only other person aware that Jasper could not read, a matter of necessity, of course. But she hadn’t said anything about it, didn’t treat Jasper any differently because of it. He was glad for that. Most people assumed he was a stupid barbarian who couldn’t even tie his own shoes, all because he couldn’t read.

Cassandra seemed confused by the note, eyebrows scrunched together. “It’s...a scavenger hunt of sorts, set forward by this Red Jenny character. I’ve never heard of her. There are bits of red cloth in these areas that the sender of this letter claims will help us find someone who is vehemently against the Inquisition...and a drawing of - ugh - see for yourself.” She thrust the letter back under Jasper’s curious nose, Solas and Varric eagerly peeking over his shoulder.

Jasper burst out laughing. “Our dear writer seems to be quite the artist! That is _rather_ anatomically accurate.”

“You know, from this angle, it almost looks like a - “ Varric began, tilting his head, but Cassandra cut him off.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, crumpling the note. “We should head back to camp and rest before heading back to Haven.”

Jasper pouted. “Now, now, Seeker, I believe this note was addressed to me. I want to see what the dealio is.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Very well, Herald. I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Cassandra was leading them to the dock where the first clue was supposedly hidden when a young man bedecked in frilly, shiny clothing approached them with another note. He introduced himself as a footman of Duke Bastien. “The Herald is invited to a salon hosted by Madame de Fer, tomorrow evening.”

Jasper and Cassandra exchanged a glance. “I hear Orlesians know how to party. I’m game.” Cassandra rolled her eyes but did not protest. “Let this Madame de Fer know I will be attending this salon tomorrow. In fact, I am looking forward to it excitedly.”

The footman disappeared with a flourishing bow. Jasper stretched his arms over his head. “My, my, I seem to be oh-so popular today. I wonder how many assassination attempts we’ll be dealing with, hm?”

Cassandra grimaced. “Are you always so morbid?”

“Only when I’m in a particularly good mood, Seeker,” he quipped as they left to hunt down Red Jenny’s clues.

***

Oh, Jasper definitely liked Sera, despite the horrific, clashing outfit and the shoddy haircut. Not only did she have a filthy mouth, but she was _fun_ , too. Stealing the pantaloons of the guards? Genius move, absolutely hilarious. Priceless, really, watching the guards sheepishly storm the courtyard with their bits and pieces flapping in the breeze. Jasper would’ve been an easy target, bent over with laughter as he was, but this Sera, the so-called Red Jenny who sent them the letter, was an excellent shot. With her bow and arrow, she took out guard after guard, hardly leaving any for the rest of them.

“That was _brilliant_ ,” Jasper gushed when the fighting was over. “Are you married?”

Sera blinked and grimaced. “Look, no offense Mr. Glowy-Hand, but you’re not really my type. I prefer bigger boobs.”

Jasper quirked a brow in surprise but grinned even wider. “That is one of my most obvious drawbacks, isn’t it? So sorry to disappoint.”

“The point is,” Sera stressed. “You do glow, right? You’re the Herald-thingy?”

Jasper nodded. “The one and only, apparently.”

Sera wanted in on the Inquisition. She wanted to help, because she was tired of the “small people” getting hurt by the “big people” who were in charge. Everyone was scared of the Breach, but the small people, the servants and laborers, were affected the worst, being kicked around by the nobles.

Jasper shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We can’t really be too choosy with who we accept right now. If you want to help, then come with us back to Haven.”

The five of them headed to the camp outside of Val Royeaux. Not a single inn in the city itself would house them, so they were forced to rough it, once more. Not that Jasper was complaining. He was really quite tired of the pompous nobles, and being outside the city limits was preferable.

After dinner, Jasper stretched out on the ground, wrapped in a cloak, and stared up at the sky. There were fewer stars here than out in Haven, but he could still pick out some of the brighter constellations. After a few minutes, he let his eyes shut.

“It’s shocking that the Breach is nothing more than a speck on the horizon now,” Cassandra remarked as she sat beside Jasper. Jasper cracked open one eye to look at her. “It’s easy to forget out here. Perhaps that is why the clerics, the nobles, they all choose to squabble over insignificant things. Without the Breach looming over them, it’s easier to pretend that it’s just a matter of electing a new Divine.”

Jasper pursed his lips. “Maybe we should invite them to Haven, so they can witness it firsthand.”

Cassandra smiled. “That is actually what Josephine is attempting to do. Keyword: attempt. We shall have to see if it works. Hopefully, now, without the templars and without their unified voice, we will be able to reach more of them.”

Jasper sat up and pushed to his feet. “I ought to head to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and if I’m going to be dealing with nobles, I ought to be well-rested.”

***

Jasper enjoyed spending the Inquisition’s money on things in the marketplace. Of course, he was not allowed to be in charge of the money, Leliana had seen to that. Cassandra handled the coin purse, and refused to pass any money over for anything that did not benefit the Inquisition. But she allowed Jasper to buy some nicer armor for himself, new schematics, a few tiny cakes that were delicately wrapped in a box to be delivered back to camp for him.

“If I didn’t hate these nobles so much, I would really rather enjoy Orlais,” Jasper said as he pressed his face and hands against the glass storefront of some shop, leaving shmutzy stains on the surface. He turned and saw a couple of poofy ladies passing by, walking two tiny dogs. “Just _look_ at those tiny puppies!”

They started barking incessantly at Jasper, aggression at odds with their size. The two ladies seemed slightly embarrassed, until they saw that it was the heretical Herald of Andraste and his companions. They scooped up their tiny dogs with fear in their eyes and ran away as quickly as their skirts allowed.

Jasper barked a laugh. “Maker, and people pay for entertainment here. They just need to follow us around, we make a good circus.”

Jasper stopped walking, watching Solas eye a bookshop longingly. Jasper went to stand beside him. “Pick out whatever you like, Solas. Cassandra will pay for it.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise but followed the taller elf into the shop. That left Varric on the street with Jasper. He had his modified crossbow on his back. Jasper eyed it with interest. “Why don’t you buy a new crossbow, Varric? There are more advanced models these days.”

Varric shook his head. “Me and Bianca have been through too much together to even think about using another crossbow. We ride together and die together, Marshmallow.”

Jasper grimaced. “Marshmallow is too long for a nickname. Pick something else.”

“Fluffy?” Varric offered with a grin and a laugh. “Pudding?”

“Maker, can we go back to Spike?” Jasper grumbled, floofing his dark hair with his hand.

“It’s too late now, Herald,” Varric chuckled. “Fluffy it is.”

Before they knew it, the sun was setting, and the time of the salon was fast approaching. Jasper had straight-up refused to change into some sort of poncey outfit that would make him look like someone playing dress-up. Even if it was the current and hottest fashion of Orlais.

His armor was clean, so that was good enough for him. Cassandra didn’t seem to care too much; she was just passing over Josephine’s concerns. They all followed him to the estate belonging to Duke Bastien, just in case it was a trap. But it really seemed like a party; not quite innocent, of course, but there were a few dozen pompous nobles and pleasant music playing. Jasper waved his companions away.

“Go enjoy your free evening,” he told them with a wink. “We passed a nice-looking brothel a little bit ago.”

There were fairy lights twinkling along the walls, the lights dimmed just enough to set a mood of revelry. Soft, tinkling music was floating through the halls, and some couples were dancing in the grand hall. Others were hovering over the tables piled high with food and - Maker bless - tiny cakes. Along the walls were servants. Almost all of them were elves. Jasper felt their eyes on him, curious, scared.

After a few steps into the hall, a _real_ herald announced, “Master Lavellan of the Inquisition!” Jasper flinched. He did not enjoy using his surname, if possible. He felt no familial connection to the clan he was born to. He hadn’t seen them in decades.

A couple of nobles approached Jasper quickly, with excitement, almost. They greeted him with smiles and questions about his exploits. It was the first non-hostile encounter he’d had with nobles, thus far. Though he wasn’t sure he felt better as a zoo animal, either. “We have heard the most amazing stories! I cannot even begin to imagine that half of them are true!” the woman gushed.

Jasper grinned rakishly. “Everything you’ve heard? Completely true.” He offered a wink to them both.

“Ooh, better and better!” the woman said, fanning herself. “The Inquisition should attend more of these parties!”

Jasper’s attention was distracted by a nobleman making a beeline towards them. “Inquisition? What a load of pigshit!” the man shouted, stumbling drunkenly. Jasper rolled his eyes. The vapid nobles Jasper could deal with. The aggressive ones were another deal. He could deal with them, too, but Josephine wouldn’t like it. “Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a power-grab by a bunch of washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers. No one can take you all seriously.”

Jasper eyed the paunchy man. He could take him with both hands tied behind his back, honestly, but he knew Josephine would have conniptions if he killed a noble, no matter how distasteful they were. “Is that so, dear? Because we had a whole crowd of clerics to greet our entrance to the city, and they all seemed to take us rather seriously. Otherwise they wouldn’t have tried so hard to defame us.”

“You claim to be the so-called _Herald of Andraste_ ,” the man said mockingly. “As if she would ever choose a knife-ear as her prophet!” The man spat at Jasper’s feet. Jasper’s hands were itching to just tear his tongue out with his bare hands. Make it drawn-out and painful. Show him just what a knife-ear was capable of.

Jasper just smirked, trying to tamp down the simmering rage. Josephine had coached him on what to say to anyone who questioned his authority based on his race, and just this once he would listen to her, see where it got him. “You know Shartan was an elf, right? Andraste’s comrade in arms? Her champion? Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Unless…” Jasper affected a shocked gasp. “You don’t know the Chant, love?”

The man floundered for a moment. “His people - _your_ people - killed ours! You threw Andraste’s gift in her face. And you killed our Divine. The only good elf is a dead elf. Now, if you were a man of honor, you’d step outside and answer the charges.”

Jasper cracked his knuckles, blood boiling, barely containing his rage. Maker, if it weren’t for Josephine’s lilting accent chastising him in his head, he’d have beaten the shit out of this pomped-up noble already. Her advice hadn’t worked at all. “Your wish is my command, ser.”

The noble started reaching for his sword before Jasper could take a step to the door. Jasper’s eyes widened. Of course the bastard was a snake. There would be none of this “honorable duel” shit. But before Jasper could draw his daggers, the man froze, encased in magical ice. Jasper’s eyes jumped to the steps, pausing as he reached for his weapons. A woman was descending the stairs, staff in hand, but she didn’t appear aggressive. And he seriously doubted she had missed.

“My dear marquis,” the woman said, frowning at the nobleman. “How unkind of you to use such language in my house...to _my guest_.”

The woman was dressed in mage robes that reflected the style of the nobles’ fashion. Shiny, sleek, low cut neckline. Icy blue and white that played nicely off her dark umber skin. Ridiculous mask and poofy shoulders. Her mask, however, had horns curling from the top. That was cool.

She oozed grace and professionalism as she entered the hall, walking around the marquis. “You know such rudeness is simply...intolerable.”

The marquis was starting to defrost, slowly. His eyes were darting back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman. His lips parted. “Madame Vivienne! I humbly beg your pardon.”

The woman, the mage, Madame Vivienne herself, stopped just a few inches from the nobleman, distaste clear on her lovely face. “What _am_ I going to do with you?” She turned to face Jasper, who was watching with fascination and curiosity, and a dose of healthy wariness. “My dear, _you_ are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

“Oh, I am not the only wounded party,” Jasper corrected, smiling wryly. “He insulted the entire elven race. Marquis, do you have the time to approach every elf in all of Thedas and ask for forgiveness for accusing them of unfounded murder? I do believe you said the only good elf is a dead elf. On the contrary, I believe the only good douchebag is a dead one.”

Vivienne didn’t seem to be affected by Jasper’s words at all, cuss or no. She turned back to the marquis, cupping his chin in her hand. “And this, Marquis, is why one must always be courteous to one’s fellow guests.” She took a step back and clenched her fist, and the ice rehardened, then shattered, shattering the marquis’ body with it. His body fell in shards to the floor.

“Someone be a dear and clean this mess up,” Vivienne said to a servant along the wall, her careful and calm facade never cracking. “We can’t have him cluttering up the dance floor.” Jasper was surprised she’d actually done his dirty work for him. Delightful. All that was missing was some blood magic and a noble streaking naked through the gardens, and then this party would be complete.

Then Vivienne turned to face Jasper. “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering, I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

They walked along the hall, toward an open window, the chilly autumn wind blowing in. Jasper was certain to grab as many tiny cakes as he could as they crossed the floor. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Madame Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

“Fancy,” Jasper remarked, leaning against the wall that was papered in material more expensive than his clothes. He popped a cake into his mouth. “Apologies for...that. But won’t you, I don’t know, be made tranquil for killing a nobleman like that?”

Vivienne seemed amused, quirked an eyebrow. “He attempted to draw his weapon, at my party, in front of witnesses, unprovoked. By chevalier code, his life was forfeit the moment his hand fell on his hilt. One does not fight duels in the drawing room.”

“At least, not with swords,” Jasper said. “You seem the type who could’ve wrapped that up without lifting a finger.”

This time the woman did chuckle musically. “Oh, of course, my dear. One does not achieve the status of First Enchanter and Enchantress to the Imperial Court without mastering the Game.”

Jasper nodded as if he cared. “Well, we are alone now. No one’s outside the window eavesdropping. So let’s forget the Game and get straight to the point: Why did you invite me here? Not that I haven’t enjoyed the evening so far, but the Inquisition isn’t very popular right now.”

Vivienne eyed him carefully. “With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. But the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. And I believe this Inquisition may be able to achieve something great. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

“What’s it to ya?” Jasper challenged.

It seemed that Vivienne weighed her words very carefully before she answered. “It is now the duty of every mage in Thedas to work toward sealing the Breach, as we are the only ones who can. And so I would join the Inquisition on the field of battle, at your side.”

Jasper almost laughed. “You don’t strike me as the roughing-it-in-the-wilderness, fighting-gruesome-battles, eating-field-rations-and-hard-tack sort of person, no offense. The Inquisition is still getting its feet under it, and it’s not exactly an Orlesian villa to begin with.”

A smirk curled Vivienne’s full lips. “I am not unaccustomed to ‘roughing it’, as you put it. And I am a mage of no small amount of talent, my dear. I do not wish to remain here sitting on my hands like so many others have chosen. I want the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I will not wait quietly for destruction.”

Jasper bit his lip. That speech was kinda hot, he wasn’t going to lie. Although he was certain Vivienne could chew him up and spit him out without hesitation, and he was inclined to let her. Business and pleasure was one of Jasper’s favorite mixed drinks. “Is your interest in the Inquisition, Madame de Fer, or is it more personal?”

She laughed, which deflated Jasper’s ego a bit. “Aren’t you charming? It’s professional, of course.” At least she didn’t freeze his balls off. Small miracles.

“Well, Madame Vivienne, in that case…” Jasper paused for dramatic effect. “You know where the Inquisition calls home, yes? Tiny little village in the Frostback Basin, impossible to notice, very easy to miss, except for the stench of desperation and fear and the constant stream of pilgrims. Not to mention the hole in the sky not far from it. We’ll see you there, whenever you’re ready.”

Vivienne was smiling rather satisfactorily. She patted Jasper’s arm and moved to rejoin the guests, doing her duty as host. “Do enjoy the rest of the salon, my dear.”

***

Jasper got really drunk and ate way too many tiny cakes, and a lot of foods that he had no idea what they were. There were _so_ many cheeses. Cassandra and Varric helped lead him back through the streets of Val Royeaux as Jasper insisted on singing what he promised were Orlesian love songs.

“I didn’t know you spoke mabari, Fluffy,” Varric quipped.

“Ah! I used to have a mabari,” Jasper told them, smiling hugely, and they saw his sixteenth piercing, a horseshoe ring through the skin between his upper lip and the gums of his upper teeth. “Well, my ex-boyfriend did. His name was Barkthomelew. The dog, not my ex-boyfriend, I mean.”

As they were leaving the gates of the city behind, Solas stopped walking, ears twitching slightly as he looked around suspiciously. Cassandra, Varric, and Jasper came to a stop behind him, Varric shouldering Jasper so Cassandra could draw her sword. “We are not alone,” Solas warned them, dropping a barrier and holding his staff defensively. “Varric, keep close to the Herald.”

“Why does it always happen when I’m drunk?” Jasper murmured, not caring enough to even try to stand up straight. He looped both arms around Varric and smushed their faces together. “At least I have a big strong dwarf to protect me.”

“Maybe Syphilis would’ve been a better nickname,” Varric grumbled, apparently not a very touchy-feely sort of person.

Then an audible rustling reached their ears, that of clothing. A woman was walking toward them from the shadows, arms up to indicate she was unarmed. Still, Cassandra and Solas maintained their defensive postures. Even as Cassandra identified the woman.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” she asked in disbelief, distrust dripping in her tone. The newcomer was an elf, much shorter than Jasper, wearing the standard issue Circle mage robes. She had shoulder-length black hair pushed neatly behind her ears, her part separated evenly.

Solas lowered his staff slightly. “Leader of the mage rebellion? Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

Fiona glanced between them rather dodgily, and Varric tried to make it look like he wasn’t really holding up a drunk Herald of Andraste. It was rather poor form, after all. “I want to see the fabled Herald myself. If it’s help you seek with the Breach, perhaps you should look to the mages.”

Jasper attempted to stand on his own. He managed without too much trouble, though he was a bit off-balance. “What if...we don’t want your help? Our commander claims that the templars are just as capable at closing the Breach.”

Fiona scowled, though she maintained a polite voice. “I am simply offering an invitation to the Inquisition to meet the mages in Redcliffe. After that, it is your choice, of course. I hope to see you there. Au revoir.”

And she was gone just as suddenly as she had appeared, melting back into the darkness. Jasper was about ready to pass out and allowed Cassandra and Varric to support him again, leading him to the campsite. Maker, it was sooooo far away.

Varric helped Jasper out of his armor and into the bedroll. Jasper started blinking, tears gathering in his hazel eyes as he looked up at the dwarf he’d only known for a few weeks. “Varric,” he said, voice choked. “I love you, like, so friggin’ much, do you know that?”

Varric was doing a bad job at suppressing his laughter. “I love you, too, Jasper.”

Jasper smiled broadly as tears ran down his face. “You used my given name, Varric. I love that.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Fluffy,” Varric amended. “Now get some sleep. You’ll be needing it.”

“I love you,” Jasper said again as he rolled over, falling asleep immediately.

***

“Turn out the light,” Jasper bitched the next morning, pulling the blanket over his pounding head. His eyes were closed, but they throbbed incessantly. His mouth felt like cardboard, dry as sand. He wanted to die.

“That’s the sun, Herald,” Cassandra said flatly, a note of disapproval in her voice. “Wake up. We must leave as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Jasper whined, clutching his head. Cassandra was so loud. Her armor never stopped clanking. “Surely a few more hours won’t hurt?”

“It’s nearly midday, Herald,” Cassandra snapped. “We’ve waited long enough. At this rate, we will not reach our next planned campsite before nightfall.”

She tugged the blanket off Jasper, even as he cursed and screamed, and left the tent. Jasper shivered, but sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face and through his long, curly hair, grumbling all the while. He pulled on his armor, not caring that he was wearing the same tunic and trousers as the day before. Who cared what he smelled like? He was the bloody Herald of Andraste, wasn’t he? What good was the title if he couldn’t skip a bath here and there?

He drained his canteen and then stumbled out of the tent to find some food. One of the scouts stationed at the camp shoved a bowl of lukewarm porridge into his hands. Jasper grimaced at it but found a seat quickly and shoveled it down his throat, trying _not_ to taste it. Maker, didn’t they have any salt here, out in the field?

The return to Haven was as boring as it could be. They killed a few bandits, a few rogue templars and rebel mages here and there. Got chased by _another_ bear at one point. Nothing to write home about.

As predicted, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were all aflutter when they arrived back. Leliana’s scouts, of course, already knew everything that had happened in Val Royeaux, and had reported back before the four of them had arrived. So it was straight into a meeting for Cassandra and Jasper, even though Jasper just wanted to nap.

They were split even. Cullen and Cassandra advocated for reaching out to the templars, insisting they were less unpredictable. However, the templars refused to meet with them unless they were able to get enough well-connected nobles to back them up. Leliana and Josephine seemed dead-set on the mages, however, claiming that they would be easier to work with. And they had an open invitation to Redcliffe to meet with them. Jasper scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor as they all argued back and forth, wondering why he was there at all.

“What do you think, Herald?” Cassandra finally asked, cutting through the tape sharply.

Jasper blinked. ”I’m not used to this whole my-opinion-mattering thing, you know.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, showing just how thin her patience was getting. “Have you been listening at all?”

Jasper smirked crookedly. “Ooh, you know me so well already, Seeker. Your words wound me. I’ve really only been listening to all your lovely accents. Lady Josephine, do you think I could persuade you to read the dictionary to me over tea one day? No? Shame.”

Cassandra’s jaw was set with annoyance. Josephine was a tad flustered, and Cullen was pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. Jasper felt bad for them all, really, but he was _not_ the one calling the shots here.

Leliana spoke up. “I will review the pros and cons of approaching either faction once more, Herald, as neutrally as I can. Once. More. Listen closely.”

Jasper stood at attention, a little thrill of fear running through him. Leliana was scary. It was kind of hot. “I am all ears.”

No one laughed at his stupid little joke. Leliana ran through it all again, eyes never leaving Jasper’s. Jasper tried his hardest to keep his mind from wandering. At the end of it, he looked them each in the eye. He licked his lips. And then he answered.

“I don’t know.”

Groans went up from them all. “This is ridiculous,” Cullen barked. “He’s an agent of the Inquisition, not one of the council. He shouldn’t be making any decisions whatsoever.”

Josephine frowned. “We are rather dependent on Lord Lavellan. Without him, we have no chance of survival. Therefore, his opinion is of the utmost importance. He is the one we are putting in harm’s way, after all,” she added quietly, avoiding Jasper’s eye.

Jasper rubbed his temples. “Please stop calling me by my surname. I prefer Herald, actually, if you must. But I have no attachment to the clan I was born into. They never tried to find me when I was taken, and so I have no care for them. I would rather simply be called ‘Jasper’, or ‘that bastard’, ‘son of a bitch’, ‘nug-eater’ - “

Josephine cut him off with a note on her clipboard. “Duly noticed, Jasper. However, it will most likely continue to come up.”

Jasper ran a hand through his dark curls, then down his freckled, pale face, squeezing his cheeks and pouting his lips as he looked down at the map. One marker denoted Therinfal Redoubt. Another showed Redcliffe. He didn’t want to make this choice. Some other scattered objects marked different agents they were looking into.

He looked back up and dropped his hand. They were all looking to him, waiting for an answer. “Look,” Jasper started, hands on his hips, uncomfortable with this authority. “This is a lot to consider. It will affect everyone. I understand why we can’t really bring both groups here. But will siding with one over the other really help with peace talks?”

There was a moment of quiet. Cullen moved to lean on the table, blond curls not moving at all. Jasper wondered what sort of pomade he used. “Herald. There will be no peace talks unless we can safely say that the Breach is no longer a looming threat. The truth is, it could reopen at any time. We know too little about it to really make any sort of judgment call on its nature and habits. It is unpredictable. We must make a decision soon about who to approach. Neither will work with the other, of course, since neither will set aside their differences.”

Jasper sighed. “I know, I just…this is a lot for me.”

Nobody looked particularly enthused with that response. Josephine stepped forward diplomatically. “Herald, why don’t you take a day to rest? And perhaps focus on other things for a little while - they could help you come to a conclusion. As you know, the Grey Wardens have seemed to just disappeared. There is, however, reports of a lone Warden in the Hinterlands, recruiting. Find him, talk to him, see if he can shed any light on what the Wardens are doing. It may affect your decision.”

“Oh, also,” Jasper said suddenly, scratching at his chin, suddenly remembering. “I nearly forgot to mention. Madame Vivienne de Fer should be arriving in Haven any day n-”

Josephine cut him off. “ _What_? Why didn’t you say something sooner, Herald? This is the sort of information I need to know as soon as possible! The Iron Lady may be a mage, but one with _incredible_ influence - she knows everyone in court - an amazing player of the Game - not to mention her patron, Duke Bastien - “

Leliana giggled a little laugh, the first Jasper had heard from her. “Relax, Josie, I already know. She’s not here as a visiting dignitary, but as an asset to the Inquisition. In fact, if my scouts overheard the conversation going on between Jasper and Madame Vivienne correctly, she intends to join us on the battlefield and in missions. She is not afraid to dirty her hands.”

Jasper huffed. “I figured your people must’ve been snooping around that open window. Saves me the trouble of writing a report, I suppose.”

Leliana was still smiling, genuine amusement in her cerulean eyes. “I would not be very good at my job if I didn’t already know of something as simple as a recruit, no?” Then she turned to the ambassador. “I’m sure one of the simple cabins will be more than comfortable enough for her. She is not expecting five-star accomodations.”

This calmed Josephine down somewhat, but she still seemed flustered. “Very well. Herald, take the day for yourself, and I will ensure the horses are tended to. Dennet should be arriving soon. Good job persuading him to come himself, he is truly a master when it comes to our equine friends.”

Jasper quirked an eyebrow. He hadn’t taken Josephine for a horse person.

“I shall make sure everything is prepared for you to return to the Hinterlands day after tomorrow,” she continued, making several notes. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Herald.”

She swept out of the room and was immediately beckoning her assistants to her to help take care of things. Cullen cleared his throat and shifted. “If that is all?”

Leliana shrugged and followed after Cullen, leaving the room. Jasper eyed Cassandra. She looked as exhausted as himself. “I think we are deserving of a hot meal and some relaxation time, don’t you agree, Seeker?”

Her eyes lit up. “I don’t know about relaxing, but a hot meal sounds truly divine right now.”

***

After leaving the kitchens, Jasper went for a pleasant walk about town, picking leafy greens out of his teeth the whole time. He stopped when he heard someone approaching him ahead, eyeing the fully-armored man with closely-cropped hair. Perhaps he was a new recruit or agent? Or, better yet, was Jasper about to experience the first attempt on his life as Herald? If this soldier was an assassin, they were doing a poor job of subtlety. Jasper could’ve killed them ten times over in the time it took for the man to reach him.

“Excuse me, may I have a word?” the man asked. Jasper’s ears pricked. His voice was rather melodious, soft for a man’s. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but nobody will so much as give me the time of day.”

Jasper smiled. “I can carry along your message to the proper authorities, good ser.”

The soldier cleared his throat. “Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly do work out of Orlais and Nevar-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Jasper could stop the gasp that escaped his lips, eyes wide. “The Bull’s Chargers?” he repeated, ignoring Cremisius’ confused expression. “Are you serious? Andraste’s balls, I never thought I’d meet one of you! I’m a big fan - used to be in a mercenary company myself, the Red Buzzards, doubt you’ve heard of us, nothing compared to the Chargers, of course - I’ve heard stories of you all, stuff of legend, really - absolutely amazing - is he here? The Iron Bull?” Jasper started smoothing his hair back, even though it was a lost cause. He froze and stopped talking and fidgeting when he saw the expression on the soldier’s face.

“Er - sorry,” Jasper apologized, blushing furiously. “That was weird. I’m a bit of a fan, is all. You all are very famous among mercenary circles.” Then he smiled, extending his hand. “Jasper at your service.”

The other man shook his hand, comprehension dawning on his face. “Oh - you’re the Herald, then, aren’t you? The elf? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but it is...notable.”

Jasper offered a grin. “That’s me, the one and only. Andraste’s favorite heretic.”

“Well, it’s gratifying to know someone about these parts has heard of us, at least,” Cremisius said gruffly, folding his arms.

Jasper’s face was still burning. He wanted to bury himself in snow. “Right. Yeah. Sorry if I...freaked you out.”

“You said you used to belong to a merc comp,” Cremisius mentioned. “How’s that sitting with the Chantry?”

Jasper shrugged. “Oh, they don’t know. Yet. Our spymaster does, of course, there’s not much she doesn’t. I’m sure everyone will find out sooner or later. Still, it’s been years since I’ve been a part of the Buzzards, and they were mostly just a thuggish gang by the time I left. Doubt any of them even remember me. Didn’t leave on great terms.”

That was not entirely true. He knew they would remember him after the stunt he pulled. After the people he’d killed. He knew that if he ever ran into them again - unlikely, of course, that’s why he left the Marches and crossed the sea - they would kill him on sight, no questions asked.

“Anyway, we got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast,” Cremisius continued. Jasper grit his teeth. He hated ‘Vints more than he hated the constant drizzling along the Coast. “The Iron Bull offers this information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there in one week’s time and watch us work.”

Jasper would absolutely love to, no matter what the Inquisition council said. They wouldn’t be able to stop him, even if they chained him and threw him into the dungeons. Again. “What does the Iron Bull get from this? Why reach out to us like this?”

Cremisius shrugged. “I wondered that too, myself. This is the first time he’s gone out of his way to pick a side. But he thinks you all are doing good work. He wants to be a part of it.”

That felt a bit flimsy to Jasper, and he was sure there was more to it. A personal connection. Maybe the Iron Bull was a devout Andrastian, even if he was qunari. Tal-Vashoth. People who left the Qun, their religious code. Or maybe he had lost someone at the Conclave, or to the war. Most people had.

“Very well, Cremisius,” Jasper said. “We shall meet you on the Storm Coast. One week’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've forgotten that certain formatting like italics don't transfer well on here with copy and paste. Bear w me.
> 
> also i'm making t shirts that say "Andraste's favorite heretic" and you can't stop me


	5. Fucking 'Vints

The Storm Coast was aptly named, unfortunately. And once they arrived at the forward camp, their horses were essentially of no use. The Storm Coast was incredibly hilly, impossible to navigate on horseback. The steeds would simply be unable to contend with the rocky environment and loose silt. The forward camp was situated at the base of the hills, so at least it was all uphill from there, right?

No one liked Jasper’s joke, no matter how many times he said it. Not even pretty Scout Harding laughed. She didn’t seem to quite get jokes; she hadn’t gotten Varric’s _Hard-ing in Hightown_ joke, either. So Jasper just sniffed indignantly and carried on.

The weather was, of course, atrocious. Within minutes, they were all soaked through with the light but constant rain. At least it was a little warmer, this far north. But Jasper’s new leather boots and leather breeches and leather half-jacket were all soaked, which was damned annoying, as it squeaked something awful. He felt sticky with the humidity and the drizzle. And he was ready to go home. Maker, why was the Iron Bull in such an awful place? At least the Grey Warden, Blackwall, had been in a nice area of the Hinterlands. But “nice” was a relative term, after all; it was still in the Hinterlands.

“Watch out for the cult, Herald,” Scout Harding warned grimly at the base camp. “They’re calling themselves the Blades of Hessarian.”

Jasper gave a lopsided grin. “Lovely. As the supposed prophet of Andraste, I really, truly look forward to meeting them.”

“You are so morbid,” Cassandra remarked with disgust.

“Oh, it’s part of my charm, and you love it,” Jasper teased as they headed off into the hills.

“I assure you, I do not,” Cassandra dead-panned with a roll of her eyes.

The constant uphill and downhill was exhausting, and Jasper felt winded, but he could not deny that it was doing wonders for his figure. His arse looked phenomenal, especially in those tight leathers. At least there was one perk of being a glorified errand-boy for the Inquisition.

On the crest of the hills overlooking the beach, Jasper saw a group of ‘Vints around a campsite. He was prepared to launch an attack, but he saw another group of people moving in from the west, led by a huge qunari man. Easily two heads taller than any human man, he would’ve towered above Jasper, which was intimidating enough. The gray skin and bare, barrel-chest wasn’t the most intimidating thing about him, either. No, it was the two humongous _horns_ sticking out from either side of his head at right angles that scared an enemy the most. They were exactly like a bull’s, except larger.

“There he is! The Iron Bull!” Jasper pointed out excitedly as he and his Chargers descended upon the Tevinter mercenary group, taking them by surprise. Jasper grinned, enjoying the show. “Let’s just watch. They’re putting on quite the show for us, no?”

It was a mix of mages and regular soldiers, fighting against the Chargers. Jasper was fairly well-versed in the details of Tevinter social classes and politics, as much as an illiterate elf could be. He had had to learn to listen very carefully. He was, after all, very much of the know-thine-enemy philosophy. The non-mages fighting were Sorporati. They held no real power in Tevinter. The mages were most likely Laetus - formerly Sorporati, but elevated in social standing once magic was introduced to the family. An altus - those who were practically royalty in Tevinter, whose ancestors had been the priests of the Old Gods - would never be caught dead working for a mercenary company. They very rarely were actually trained in real combat. They were too delicate and rich for that. All they did was politic and dabble in blood magic.

Jasper led the way down to the beach as the Chargers wiped out the last of them, blood staining the rocky soil, washing away in the ebb and flow of the tide. Jasper picked his way across shipwrecks and damaged crates that once held cargo and the freshly dead bodies littering the campsite.

“Chargers, stand down!” the qunari man announced. The Iron Bull. Even more brilliant in person. Jasper, for once, was delighted to have someone tower over him. “Krem, how’d we do?” he continued, walking over toward the soldier who had approached Jasper in Haven.

“Five or six wounded, no dead,” Cremisius reported.

“That’s what I like to hear!” the Iron Bull cheered. “Let the throat-cutters finish up, then break out the casks.”

Cremisius walked away to see to the wounded, and Jasper approached the Iron Bull, heart pounding rather rapidly. Maker, he’d better get ahold of himself. It was like he was a blushing virgin or something. Jasper toyed briefly with the idea that he might have a crush on the Iron Bull. That was something to deal with at another time, though.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” the Iron Bull greeted. Jasper was delighted to see he wore an eyepatch - how roguish. “Glad you could make it. Come on, take a seat. Drinks are coming.”

They took a seat on an overturned rowboat, rather sturdy as the constant rain hadn’t rotted it away yet. Someone pressed a flagon of ale into his hand and Jasper accepted it readily, gulping it down. Decent stuff. Better than what Flissa was serving, at least, though that was hardly her fault.

“You’ve met my lieutenant Cremisius, right?” the Iron Bull said, gesturing toward the man as he approached them.

“Good to see you again,” Cremisius offered as greeting. Jasper gave him a smile and let his eyes linger. He wasn’t bad-looking at all. “Throat-cutters are done, chief.”

“Already?” the Iron Bull said. “Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

“None taken,” Krem said with humour in his voice. “At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one-up on you qunari, right?”

Krem left them with that, and Jasper watched him go before the Iron Bull drew him back to the present. “So. I hear you’re a fan. You’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us. You’ve been spreading the good name of the Inquisition far and wide, I hear. Nobles will be wanting to get behind that.”

Jasper nodded, considering, trying not to let his adoration of the Iron Bull cloud his judgment, or Josephine would castrate him personally. “How much will this cost me, exactly?”

“You? Nothing, unless you’re buying drinks later.” The Iron Bull grinned. “We’d go through your ambassador, get the payments all set up. The gold will take care of itself, don’t worry. And you’re not just getting the Chargers. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Demons, dragons? The bigger, the better.”

The Iron Bull stood up and Jasper stood with him, following him further away from the rest of his companions. He nodded to Cassandra, nonverbally telling her he was fine. They kept their distance, but Cassandra’s eyes never left them. She was in Kirkwall during the qunari invasion, right? Or around the same time. He had no doubt she didn’t trust them farther than she could throw them.

“And there’s one other thing,” the Iron Bull revealed. “Might please you, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hasrath?”

Jasper’s eyes widened. As a merc and bandit, he’d heard a lot of rumors. “I’ve heard of them,” he said. “Don’t know many details, beyond them essentially being spies.”

The Iron Bull nodded. “Yeah, well. We’re worried about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to get close to the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s going on.”

“Hold up,” Jasper said, raising a hand. “ _You’re_ Ben-Hasrath, is that what you’re saying?”

The Iron Bull nodded. “Whatever happened at the Conclave thing, that’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed.”

Jasper mulled it over, trying to appear like a capable leader. “I appreciate the honesty, Iron Bull.”

“Oh, also, Herald, I get reports from Ben-Hasrath agents all over Thedas,” the Iron Bull said. “I can share those with your people.”

“A Ben-Hasrath agent amongst a bunch of Chantry folks?” Jasper mursed. “Tsk, tsk. What _will_ people say about me and my decision making? Oh, well, that’s for our ambassador and spymaster to deal with, isn’t it?”

“Whatever I am, Herald, I’m on your side,” the Iron Bull said diplomatically. Ooh, he was a smooth-talker, wasn’t he?

“You might still...be hiding something,” Jasper challenged, but he was being playful, really.

“From something called the Inquisition?” the Iron Bull said, laughing. “My hand would’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

Jasper drained his flagon of ale. “Alright, you’re hired.”

The Iron Bull grinned. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road! The Chargers just got hired!”

Krem looked a little disappointed. Jasper was briefly insulted, until he heard Krem’s whine. “But Chief, what about the casks? We just opened them. With axes!”

“Find some way to seal them, then,” the Iron Bull said with a grin. “You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Jasper had apparently missed that key bit of information, and anxiety took root in his heart, stuttering his brain for a second. “Hold a minute.” There was real anger in Jasper’s voice right now. Krem and the Iron Bull turned to face him, along with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, who were close enough to overhear, now. “You’re Tevinter? Nobody told me this.”

Krem and the Iron Bull exchanged glances. “I’m an ex-patriot. I left for my own reasons, joined up with this lug here. Never looked back. I hold no love for the Imperium, believe me, Herald.”

Jasper swallowed, feeling terribly at odds. On the one hand, he’d enjoyed his little conversations with Krem, and the man seemed so normal. And he was kind of hot. On the other, he was from Tevinter. A non-starter, for Jasper. The ‘Vints were the ones who took him from the Dalish, his only home, his people, his family, his future. He may have managed to escape before being sold into slavery, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t still be blamed for making him into what he was. Every bad bit of luck in his life had been from Tevinter.

“Jasper, are you alright?” Varric asked, reaching out. The fact that he didn’t use a nickname this time rather rattled him. He didn’t like that Varric was taking this so seriously; it made himself feel like he _wasn’t_ overreacting. He was, he had to be, and he just didn’t want to explain it.

“No, not really,” he deadpanned. “Reliving some rather horrific memories I’d like to forget. Whatever. As long as I can have another flagon of ale, I have no issue with you accompanying us back to Haven, Tevinter. For now, at least.” Jasper shuddered, feeling like his skin was crawling all over.

Jasper was given more ale, and he chugged quickly, grimacing slightly. The others, including the Iron Bull and his lieutenant, watched Jasper with concern and wariness. This was entirely out of character for the elf. Sure, no one held any great love for the Imperium or its people, but that didn’t extend to vitriol toward each of its citizens, typically. Maybe distrust. And Krem wasn’t even a citizen anymore. Jasper walked ahead of the group as they all headed back to the nearest Inquisition camp. The Chargers set up their own camp a stone’s throw away.

“Herald, is something the matter?” Cassandra asked once the Chargers were well-enough away.

Jasper sighed. “Like I said, Seeker, yes, something is the matter. And no, I do not want to talk about it. To anyone. Ask the Nightingale if you want to know so bad. She’s got a file this thick - “ He held his thumb and index finger a couple inches apart from each other. “This thick on me. Must be interesting reading, I’m sure.”

Jasper stormed off, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable and not wanting to be around anyone, least of all folks who seemed to think they were his friends, somehow. He sighed as he swung himself up into an evergreen tree, deftly finding footholds and clambering some twenty-five feet off the ground. That was one of the great perks of having been a kid amongst the Dalish. They never had an issue with him climbing trees, so he was quite good at it.

He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms around his legs. He had been so excited to meet the Iron Bull. He was disappointed to find out his hero was not Tal-Vashoth at all, but rather the opposite. A devout qunari. He worked for their government. An elite area of their government. Or church. However that worked.

And then to find out that the man he admired was chummy with a ‘Vint. Jasper sighed and buried his face into his knees. He knew it wasn’t Krem’s fault, being born to such a shit country, but that didn’t mean Jasper had to be his friend.

He was upset, and it was illogical, he knew, but he didn’t care, even as much as he wanted to stop being upset. It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid. He wished he had his waterpipe and herb, but neither had been found around Haven after the explosion. Maker knew what happened to them. But drink as he might, it simply did not have the same effect - he didn’t like being sad, and drinking made him sad. He knew it was looked down upon with disapproval, but he just wanted to get high and not deal with anything for a while.

Maybe the alchemist Adan would put in a requisition for him. For medical purposes, of course. Anxiety was a medical issue, after all.

Jasper did not descend the tree until well after the sun had descended and dusk had passed, leaving the environment bathed in full-dark. The only light came from the campsite, which was at the edge of Jasper’s peripheral. Not even the moon or the stars were visible, not with the heavy clouds and the constant drizzle.

He was shivering. The rain had seeped into his bones and chilled his blood. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning when he felt like he had the flu. He would regret it when he couldn’t breathe through his nose anymore, only through his mouth. But even though it was long past sunset, he didn’t want to return to the camp. He didn’t want to see anyone.

Eventually, of course, he heard Varric, Cassandra, and Solas crunching through the gravelly terrain, calling his name. They had given him his space, but now they were worried for his safety, not just his mental well-being. With a much-put-upon sigh, he swung off the tree branch and landed softly on the ground, nearly sliding down when the tiny rocks and soaked soil shifted under his feet.

“I’m here,” he called softly, trudging toward the others. He should apologize for worrying them, but he didn’t really care enough to summon the words.

“You must be freezing,” Solas said critically. “Why did you disappear like that, Herald?”

Jasper pressed his lips together. “Last I checked, it wasn’t your business.”

No one said anything after that, but Jasper was sure Solas was pissed off at him, of course. Solas wasn’t exactly the most socially apt of his companions, and unfortunately he tended to attempt to engage in socialization when no one else wanted to. Jasper had a bad habit of shutting the elf down when he started monologing about “elven glory” and his stories about the Fade.

Jasper liked stories, but Solas was not a good storyteller. Not nearly as talented as the hahren from Jasper’s childhood clan.

Jasper ignored them all and crawled into his bedroll with an extra blanket after hanging his clothes out to dry. He had a hard time sleeping that night, tossing and turning with nightmares of his past. It did nothing to help his poor mood on the trek back to Haven the next day.

He went straight to Leliana when they returned, after handing his horse off to one of the new stables hands that had arrived with Dennet. He found the woman in an alcove in the chantry, praying quietly, lips barely moving.

“Sister,” he said as greeting as he approached her. “Whenever you’re done.”

She rose after another moment and turned to face him. “The debriefing is not for an hour yet, Herald. Do you have something you wish to share?”

Jasper felt uncomfortable and avoided Leliana’s perceptive gaze. “One of the Chargers is a ‘Vint. An expat, allegedly. Just thought you would like to know.”

Leliana was quiet for a moment and Jasper made to leave. “Anything else, Herald?” she said.

He shook his head, avoiding her eye. “That is all, Nightingale.”

***

The debriefing took painfully long. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were all scandalized and shocked, and a little angry, that Jasper had invited an active member of the Ben-Hasrath into their ranks. Not a one of them trusted the Iron Bull to actually have Jasper’s back out in the field. And on top of it, now Josephine had to scramble together to find the coin to pay them. While Jasper’s visit to the capital of Orlais had encouraged more nobles to pledge money to the Inquisition’s forces, Josephine was busy hammering out a budget for requisitions, armor, weapons, food, lodging, hosting more dignitaries, ale, medicinal supplies. Now she had to add a budget for the Bull’s Chargers.

Jasper was biting his lip, knowing that the next words out of his mouth were going to make Cassandra and Cullen erupt. “Oh, and, by the way...I think we ought to visit the mages in Redcliffe, see what they have to say.”

There was a moment of quiet. No one jumped down his throat. Yet. “I think that would be wise,” Cassandra offered. “Just to hear them out, of course.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Josephine grabbed up her clipboard. “When do you plan on leaving, Herald? We will need to begin preparations immediately, even if it is not a formal offer of alliance. The horses need to be tended to, rations packed, potions stocked - oh, and Jasper, see to it that you get a haircut before leaving, would you?”

“Oh?” Jasper said with confusion and amusement mixed.

Josephine blushed slightly, a tiny smile tugging on her lips. “Ah, yes. Well, with your curls hanging in your face like that, you look about twelve.”

Jasper felt his face heat and fought the urge to run his fingers through his rather long, unruly hair. Twelve? Was she serious? He was nearly twenty-seven, for Maker’s sake. He cleared his throat. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want them thinking the Herald of Andraste is a child. Labor laws, and all that.”

One of the servants from the kitchen was a barber on the side, which made Jasper a little nervous, but beggars could not be choosers. Josie was right, his hair was much too overgrown, nearly brushing his shoulders at this point. He looked like a girl. Which was fine, but that’s not how he liked to present. The butcher/barber (scary combination, that), was a rather rotund human with a very impressive gray mustache and a shaved-clean head. He ran his thick, meaty fingers through Jasper’s long, curly locks, separating them and harrumphing.

“What are you looking for me to do, other than take a few inches off?” the man asked in a deep baritone.

Jasper shrugged. He was vain about his appearance, but with such unruly, untameable curls, he had always kept it rather long and just swept it up into a messy bun or ponytail. “You have full creative license, my dear. Just leave something for the ladies to play with.”

The butcher laughed and raised a pair of scissors. Jasper felt nervous. This was it. Bye-bye hair. His long, luscious locks. The scissors snipped through lock after lock, the butcher pushing his hair this way and that, securing it with hair-ties here and there. Then he took out a long razor blade, the type human men used to shave their beards. Jasper’s heart was beating in his throat right now, but he bit his lip and said nothing. The butcher worked with the utmost concentration and care, like a sculptor freeing the subject within from a block of marble.

“There we go, Herald, what do you think?”

The butcher held up a mildew-spotted mirror for Jasper to take a gander in. Jasper grinned, a small laugh escaping his lips as he looked at himself. His hair was shaved on the sides and back, but he still had plenty of hair on top, like a plume of curls. He ran a hand through the curls. Maker, it was so _short_. But he looked older, closer to his true age. He looked _good_.

“Thank you,” he gushed, standing up and giving the man a hug. “It’s really perfect.”

The butcher seemed taken aback by the outpouring of affection, especially from the rather bad-attitude Herald. But he wrapped his thick arms around Jasper, and Jasper nearly cried when he realized it was the first hug he’d had in weeks. He pulled away quickly, not wanting to freak out the butcher by bursting into tears over a fucking _hug_. He ran another hand through his hair and beamed at the man.

“Lookin’ good, Fluffy!” Varric called from the tavern as the evening was rolling in. Jasper made his way over to him, slung an arm around the dwarf, and took the empty seat beside him. He offered a broad smile.

“I _feel_ good, Varric,” he affirmed. “I know it’s just a temporary feeling, though, like the rush for the few days after getting a new piercing.”

“You still haven’t told me where the other six are,” Varric hedged, taking a gulp from his mug of ale.

Jasper stuck his tongue out, revealing the sixteenth piercing. “There, happy?”

Varric chuckled. “That’s one. What about the other five?”

Jasper put his hand to his chest. “Varric, my dear, buy me dinner first.” He grinned at Varric and waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t think you really want to see them.”

“Forget I asked,” Varric muttered as he drained his glass and waved for another round. Flissa dropped by with two mugs this time, one for Varric and one for Jasper. Jasper winked and thanked her, grabbing his mug of ale. He missed the familiar clink of his rings against the metal or glass or clay of cups. Maybe he should just buy new rings, not that that would fix his longing for them. They were sentimental.

They drank in silence for a bit, Jasper’s eyes constantly drawn to the Iron Bull on the other side, laughing raucously at a story Krem had told, pounding the poor man on the back. The chair legs would give out at that rate.

Varric followed his eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay now, Fluff?”

Jasper shrugged, a pleasant buzz already hitting his veins. “It’s just a whole lot of emotional baggage I doubt you want me to unpack right now and ruin the mood. I’m...attempting to unlearn some deeply-ingrained emotional responses.”

“To ‘Vints?” Varric pressed.

“Yes,” Jasper said quietly. “To ‘Vints. I just...can’t trust them. I’m feeling very on edge right now, just by Krem being in the room, and I don’t _want_ to feel this way, but once I know...I can’t stop.” He flagged Flissa down for another round. “My ex was Tevinter, too. I still don’t know how we managed to have a relationship despite that. My distrust started long before that, of course. But he wore down my defenses, slowly but surely, and I paid for that.”

Varric drained his drink. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jasper. That really sucks.”

Jasper sighed, accepting another drink. “Yeahhh, it does.” He looked over to the bar and saw Sera doing shots on her own, having the time of her life. “C’mon, let’s join Sera.”

She seemed apprehensive of them when they came over. “Oi, Herald, dwarf. Top o’ th’morning.”

“It’s nearly nighttime, Sera,” Jasper reminded her, sliding into the chair on her side. “How long have you been drinking for?”

She giggled drunkenly at that. “Only a wee while, yeah? Join me, Herald, bet I can drink you under!”

Jasper grinned and took the offered shot, throwing it back in one. “Whew! It’s about time they got something nicer here. Not that that’s smooth, by any means, but fuck.”

The next set of shots they did together with Varric, the three rogues together at the bar. Drinking with Sera was improving his mood, and Jasper was determined to make sure it kept on the up-and-up. No more looking over at the Iron Bull and Krem and being jealous, or talking about his past. He wanted to get fucked up and pass the fuck out.

It was when Jasper was trying to convince Sera to shoot an apple at his head from across the tavern that the Iron Bull intervened, striding over from across the tavern. “C’mon, you two, time for bed. You need to dry out a bit.”

“Oi, no fun!” Jasper whined, leaning on the big qunari to keep his feet under him. “I trust Sera’s skill, she’s a phenomenal shot, Bull!”

Varric was still very much standing steady, having put them both to shame in the little drinking contest. He helped Sera up the stairs as she sang at the very top of her lungs, some tavern song that she forgot half the words to.

“No one’s that good, Herald,” the Iron Bull reasoned with him as he picked Jasper up bodily and tucked him under one arm, like a sack of flour. “Not this drunk.”

“Well, now we’ll never know, will we?” Jasper pouted, head swimming when the Iron Bull picked him up. He crossed his arms as best he could as Bull left the tavern, Jasper in hand. The ground was rushing below him. “Why are you running so fucking fast?”

“Jasper?” the Iron Bull said.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“I’m not even walking right now.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jasper groaned, and Bull set him down quickly. Jasper fell to his knees and puked his guts up on the snow, splattering over his trousers. He heaved until there was nothing left, braced himself against the side of the building. Everything was swimming in his eyes. “That was icky, wasn’t it?”

“Let’s get you home, kid,” Iron Bull sighed, but there was amusement in his tone. He picked Jasper up again and it was only a few moments before he was unlocking the Herald’s door and depositing him on the bed. “Get some shut-eye, now.”

“Bull, before you leave,” Jasper said before he lost his courage. “I think you’re, like, really hot.”

“I know, kid, I know,” Iron Bull chuckled, grinning. “Now get some sleep.”

Jasper flopped backwards and fell asleep instantly in his vomit-specked clothes, not caring, just wanting the swimming room to stop moving.

***

Jasper continued to get blackout drunk every night leading to their departure back to the Hinterlands, to Redcliffe Village, and to the mages. Not the best way to prepare for a political meeting, probably, but it was Jasper’s best coping method until Adan got those Maker-damned herbs for him. The man hadn’t questioned anything, just raised an eyebrow.

“Will you be wanting papers, too, Herald?” he’d asked with amusement.

Ah, bless him. What a trooper.

However, instead of vomiting on himself and having to be carried home, Jasper kept control of himself, even if it was just to be lucid enough to invite strangers back to his cabin for a romp. Or two. At least it kept him from moping and wallowing in self-loathing all night. And it had been a while since he’d had the freedom to sleep around as he pleased.

On the morning they were to leave for Redcliffe, Cassandra stormed into his cabin, yelling about how he wasn’t even ready to leave yet - had he even had breakfast?

“Relax, Seeker,” Jasper groaned, rubbing his head in pain. He reached over one of the two people in his bed and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table, chugging it greedily. He sat up and the blankets pooled around his waist. Cassandra looked away, although now she knew where three more of his piercings were. (Nipples and belly button.) “I’m almost ready. Give me some privacy.”

She scoffed with disgust and left the cabin, but remained just outside, arms crossed, waiting impatiently. A woman and a man filed out quickly in rumpled clothes, ignoring the Seeker prudently, scurrying away. Five minutes later, Jasper sauntered out of the cabin, dressed surprisingly quickly, but looking a little worse for wear, dark shadows under his eyes and bruises coloring his neck and collarbone.

They fell in line together, Jasper munching on a bit of jerky as they headed to the stables. His head ached a little, but he had taken an elfroot potion before he fell asleep. So it was manageable, at least. The real bitch would be the lack of alcohol on the road, but he had a fat stock of healing potions and elfroot elixirs to deal with that. Better yet, he saw in his saddlebags a stock of weed and a packet of papers. Bless Adan, really and truly. So maybe he wouldn’t have to keep up with the drinking.

Jasper swung himself up onto his horse, feeling so incredibly tall. Varric was next to him on his own steed. Vivienne had arrived a few days previous with only one trunk of belongings, surprisingly, and was immediately ready to join them. Jasper was glad to have another mage to choose from. The four of them set out, but not before Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen could fit in a few more warnings and suggestions.

“Just...don’t do anything stupid, Herald,” Leliana left him with.

He grinned at her. “You wound me, my dear.”

There was a nervous undercurrent in the air as they trekked to Redcliffe. Varric tried a few times to get conversation going, but they were all too anxious to contribute much. None of the usual banter. It made Jasper even more nervous.

At last, they reached the village gates, which were barred shut, a few soldiers outside it fighting demons. A rift floated before the gate, spitting out demons that were cutting down the guards with aplomb. Jasper leapt off his horse and rushed toward them, unsheathing his daggers as they approached. He was sprinting, but when he got close, he slowed down suddenly, limbs turning to lead, like he was swimming in gelatin. He was putting in as much effort as before, but now he could barely move. Jasper looked down, and saw that he was standing in a puddle of green ooze.

Vivienne cast him a worried look as she jumped in the fray. A demon approached her, faster than any demon Jasper had seen, and he saw that it was moving within a puddle of yellow ooze on the ground. Vivienne was hard put to defend herself against its speedy attacks. Cassandra got up close and personal with it, and it seemed to Jasper that she was moving just as fast as it. What sort of bullshittery was going on?

Jasper finally managed to escape the slow-motion field, or whatever the shit it was, and attacked the nearest shade, decapitating it in a couple of fluid motions. They continued to experience the bizarre flux of time - in certain puddles of ooze, they and the demons moved faster than normal. And in others, they moved slower.

Finally, all the demons were dead, and Jasper could close the rift. He stretched his hand out to it, allowed the magic to link them, and he gritted his teeth against it. He squeezed his hand and the rift condensed, popping shut a moment later. Jasper rolled his shoulders, grimacing. The puddles of time-warping ooze on the ground had disappeared with the rift, at least.

“What the ever-loving fuck was that?” he asked, regaining his breath. He looked toward Vivienne, but she seemed at as much of a loss as he was. “Ah, well. I doubt Solas would actually know either. He’s just better at theorizing.”

“My guess is that this rift is new,” Vivienne offered as the gates were opened and they entered Redcliffe Village. “And it has the added benefit of warping time. Lovely.”

Jasper agreed. “How the fuck did a new rift open here, though?”

He wasn’t expecting an answer, of course, as much as it troubled him not to have a clue what was going on. A scout in Inquisition colors limped toward them, nursing a wound from a demon. “Herald!” he called, nearly collapsing on Jasper. Jasper caught him and sat him gently on the ground, away from any lingering carnage from the skirmish. “We spread word that the Inquisition was coming, but you should know - nobody here was expecting us.”

Jasper glanced at the others. Vivienne came over and knelt beside the scout, healing magic glowing on her fingertips as she saw to his wounds. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she didn’t tell anyone.” The scout winced as Vivienne’s magic mended his wounds. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for negotiations.”

Jasper straightened as a mage ran toward them, fingers inching toward his daggers. The mage slowed down, panting, looking rather terrified. “Inquisition! My apologies, Magister Alexius is in charge now, but he hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

Jasper’s teeth set on edge. “Magister Alexius? Another fucking ‘Vint? Where do these people keep coming from?”

Cassandra eyed him sideways as they followed the mage further in town. “Herald, we have more important things to attend to. We saw Fiona in Val Royeaux - why would she lie to her people about seeing us? Unless it was not her at all, which is even more concerning.”

“Did you not hear this young man refer to her as the _former_ Grand Enchanter?” Vivienne remarked with distaste. “Of course, any mage that becomes an apostate forsakes any titles the Circle has given them - however, I doubt she’d willingly relinquish her title, especially amongst her own rebels.”

The town was full of mages, practically overrun. There were a few farmers and merchants, local business owners, but they kept to the outskirts, rather cowering from the mages. There was a distinct segregation between them, one that Jasper was sure hadn’t been formally enforced. It was just fear taking root, the same old routine.

The Inquisition was gawked at. Some heckled them, calling them heretics. Others looked on with awe and worship. The mages kept their distance more than the villagers, no doubt wary of the Inquisition’s presence. Jasper felt nervous again, fingers twitching. The tension was killing him.

He knew the history of Redcliffe during the Blight, had heard stories of it while he was in Denerim. He was shocked that mages were allowed into the village after what had happened ten years ago. A young boy, a mage just coming into his powers, kept hidden by his doting mother. Corrupted by a demon, he turned into an abomination, his powers raising the dead and sending the corpses out to murder the villagers. The Hero of Ferelden had put a bloody end to it, but that didn’t hide the lingering ghosts. He bet every single villager had lost someone in those terrible nights.

The people here had every reason to be scared of magic.

When they entered the Gull and Lantern tavern, it took several moments for Jasper’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He saw Fiona awaiting them with a few mages flanking her, her Circle mage robes rather ragged. Fear was rank in the air, nearly overwhelming the scent of tobacco.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she greeted politely but aloofly. Her eyes fell on Vivienne and she nodded. “First Enchanter Vivienne.”

Vivienne smiled politely at Fiona, but it was laced with venom. “My dear Fiona, it has been so long since we last spoke. My, but you look dreadful! Have you been sleeping well?”

“What brings you to Redcliffe?” Fiona continued, ignoring the woman.

Jasper raised his brows. She was taking this charade of not having sent for them a bit far, wasn’t she? “Come on, Grand Enchanter, don’t play coy with me. We both know we met in Val Royeaux. You proposed a potential alliance, if we came to Redcliffe to hear you out, did you not? Well...we’re here.” He spread his arms to indicate his small, rather motley group of agents of the Inquisition.

Fiona eyed them with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, a little anger. “You _must_ be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Jasper eyed her. “Do you have a twin or something? Because it was you, down to the accent, Grand Enchanter.”

She seemed speechless for a moment. “I...suppose it could be magic at work...but why would anyone…” Her confusion seemed sincere, but Jasper didn’t know what to make of it. “Whatever - whoever - brought you here, the situation has changed, Herald.” She took a deep breath. “The free mages have already...pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

There was a beat of silence as they all seemed shocked speechless. Varric was the first to recover. “Well, shit,” he murmured. “I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could’ve done, and I’m coming up empty.”

“Fiona, dear, your dementia is showing,” Vivienne intoned, voice icy cold with contained anger and disbelief.

Cassandra stormed forward, then seemed to collect herself, stopping short. “An alliance with _Tevinter_? Are you out of your mind? Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

Fiona looked briefly pained, but regathered her composure. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Jasper ran a hand through his hair. Shit. This was bad. Another _fucking_ ‘Vint. And a magey one at that. Specifically, a high-falutin’ one. Jasper had no issue with mages. However, he hated nobles, and he hated anybody from Tevinter, even other elves. And he really did not want to negotiate with a Maker-damned fucking _‘Vint_. “Shit, Fiona. Fuck. Well, who the hell is in charge now?”

The door leading into the tavern was thrown open, and a man in tacky, overdramatic, red and gold mage robes marched in. “Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

Fiona took a breath. “Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

Jasper eyed the man up and down. He was an older man, not elderly but past his prime. His robes were really atrocious, Maker’s breath. Who willingly wore something like that? Behind him was another mage, probably about Jasper’s own age, sharing a striking family resemblance to Magister Alexius. At least the taste in robes appeared to not be hereditary.

Magister Alexius smiled coldly at Jasper. “The southern mages are under my command now. And you are the...survivor, yes? The one from the Fade?” Jasper nodded shortly. “Interesting.”

“Where is the Arl of Redcliffe?” Jasper asked aggressively, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“He did not abandon his lands even during the Blight,” Cassandra added. “What’ve you done to him?”

“There were tensions rising,” Alexius said evasively. “I did not want an incident.”

“So you kicked him out, is that it?” Jasper bit out. Varric put a calming hand on his arm, shaking his head subtly. Jasper scoffed and folded his arms across his chest to keep from lunging at the fucking ‘Vint. “Whatever. I’m here for the mages. We need their assistance in closing the Breach.”

Alexius smiled smugly. “Well. Straight to business, then, eh?” He took a seat and Jasper reluctantly sat across from him. “Please fetch a scribe, Felix. My son,” he explained to Jasper, gesturing to the other mage with him. The younger mage nodded and walked away. “So. Closing the Breach. Well, that’s quite the ambitious task before you, isn’t it, Herald? That would require...quite a number of mages, I’m sure.”

“Quite a number, yeah, you could say,” Jasper agreed coldly.

Alexius opened his mouth to reply, but Felix had returned, and he was stumbling, looking pale. Jasper leapt up to help the poor man and caught Felix before he fell to the floor, knees buckling slightly under his sudden weight. He felt the mage’s hand wander, and was about to pop a gasket at the audacity, but felt him stuff a paper into his hand. Jasper froze, and then Felix was whisked away by Alexius, fretting and cooing over the young man.

Jasper waited until they were all gone, then left the tavern with his companions, back into the bright sunlight and fresh air. Jasper led them off the path to a quiet alcove, then passed the note to Cassandra. “Magister Alexius’ son Felix passed that to me just now.”

“‘Meet me in the chantry’,” Cassandra read. “‘You are in danger.’” Her voice quirked up in a concerned question.

“Well, of course we are,” Jasper said with exasperation. “‘Vints are like fleas. If there’s two, there’s a thousand more you just haven’t noticed yet. Fuck. Those mages are _enslaved_ to that magister. I doubt he’ll just _lend_ them out.”

“The real question is, is that note a trap?” Varric asked, glancing at it and then toward the chantry at the end of the path.

“We investigate it and walk into a trap, prepared, or we hang around and wait for Alexius to try and trap us eventually,” Jasper said bitterly. “It’s a bunch of fucking ‘Vints, this is what they do. They plot and scheme about how best to hurt other people and step on those around them to get a leg up.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, careful not to press on the bar through it. “Fuck. Come on, let’s head to the chantry and wait for Felix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close! Next chapter enters Dorian. And then the angst really starts to pile up :)))
> 
> Once I get the next update out, I'll probably slow down a bit with updates and space them out more evenly, maybe a couple times a week, so I don't catch up to myself too quickly.
> 
> Also I'm already thinking up AUs. I'm sorry. I'll try to just focus on one project at a time, but I will admit I've hit a roadblock where I am in this (right before WEWH). So I might do some juggling to get those creative juices flowing.


	6. How The Fuck

They kept to the edge of the path to the chantry on the other side of the village. Inside the chantry was a brand new rift with the same bizarre temporal distortions spawning on the ground. Goodie! And another person, a mage barely keeping the demons at bay. Jasper leapt forward, slicing and dicing through the demons, careful to stay out of the ooze puddles on the floor. He froze as a burst of flame shot from the mage’s staff, over his shoulder, setting a poised lesser terror demon ablaze.

“Nice shot!” Jasper offered with a grin as he reached his marked hand out to the rift, letting the magic flow. A moment later, the rift was closed. Jasper sheathed his daggers and turned to meet the stranger, who was definitely not Felix.

“Fascinating,” the mage said, holstering his staff and approaching Jasper. He had dark, swarthy skin and crisply coiffed dark hair, shaved on the sides. And a ridiculous, curled mustache, with a little patch of hair under his lower lip. “How does that work, exactly?” Before Jasper could even collect his thoughts enough to respond, the mage continued, clearly amused, but by what, Jasper couldn’t figure. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and _poof_! Rift closes.”

Jasper narrowed his eyes at the man’s ostentatious mage robes. Not as bad as Alexius’, honestly, but still gaudy. A high collar, one arm entirely bare (which was fairly common for non-Circle mages) but with a gauntlet, and buckles. So many buckles. So very clearly Tevinter. Shame. He was rather gorgeous. “Who the fuck are you?” Jasper asked defensively, crossing his arms.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself, I see,” the man said cheerfully, as if Jasper hadn’t just cussed him out. He gave a flourish of a bow. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Jasper clenched his jaw. More fucking ‘Vints. He had moved to Ferelden for a reason; they hardly ever travelled this far south. “You’re with the magister, then? What sort of trap have you set for us, hm?”

Dorian raised his brows. “Suspicious lot, you are, eh? Felix is a dear friend of mine - he was to meet me here as soon as he could deliver the note and shake his father. Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable - as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“No, we were really just leaving,” Jasper said. “Cassandra, I think we ought to approach the templars. I doubt they’ve got a bunch of ‘Vints poisoning their ranks.”

Jasper was turning to leave when Dorian stepped forward, seeming to be shocked and desperate at the same time. Obviously, this was _not_ the reaction he’d expected. “Look, I know most Southerners - elves especially - have no love for Tevinter or its people, but you must be wondering how Alexius claimed the allegiance of the mages right out from under you - as if by magic, yes?” Jasper slowed to a stop, still not turning around to face the mage. “Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“That’s impossible, my dear,” Vivienne said with a condescending little chuckle. “The laws of magic forbid it. No one has ever succeeded in altering time.”

The look on Dorian’s face told them he wasn’t joking around.

“I hope that’s less dangerous than it sounds,” Varric said doubtfully.

Dorian grimaced. “More.”

Jasper ran a hand through his floof of curls, turning to face Dorian once more. “Of course. Of course a _fucking_ Tevinter magister would decide to dabble with dangerous, unstable, unheard-of magic. Fucking shitballs, this is really just the perfect fucking pick-me-up after finding out the mages are unavailable.”

After a moment, Dorian continued, looking a tad concerned for the Herald’s mental wellbeing. “You saw the rift you closed here? How it bent time around itself, slowing some parts down and speeding others up? A by-product of his efforts. It’s thinned the Veil, allowing more rifts to spawn even though the Breach is closed. Soon, there will be more like it, appearing further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world.”

“That is…” Jasper searched for a word, mouth open. “Fucking unreal. Cassandra, if you want to lop my marked left hand off and start waving it at rifts, that would be delightful, thanks. I plan on heading to Antiva, spending my last days absolutely butt-naked on the beach with a mojito before the entire fucking world gets turned inside out by these fucking ‘Vints.”

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” Dorian said flippantly. “Luckily for you, I know what I’m talking about, and I may have a way to reverse it. I...helped develop this magic.”

 _Stupid fucking ‘Vints, stupid fucking ‘Vints._ A mantra that currently would not leave Jasper’s head. Maker, why couldn’t the Breach have opened over Tevinter? And maybe just be isolated over the country, destroying everything there. That would be lovely.

“It was pure theory, of course, when I was still his apprentice,” the mage rushed on rather sheepishly. “Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is _why_ he’s doing it? Ripping time to tiny little shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

The door to the chantry opened, and Felix appeared, glancing behind him carefully before shutting the door quietly. “He didn’t do it for them.”

“Ah, took you long enough,” Dorian remarked. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card,” Felix sighed. “I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Then he turned to Jasper, and continued without any preamble. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. Call themselves the Venatori.”

Jasper snorted. “Aren’t all ‘Vints supremacists?”

“Maybe dial back the antagonizing, my dear?” Vivienne suggested to Jasper in an undertone as Felix and Dorian exchanged a glance. “They’re not trying to kill us. In fact, they may be offering to help. It doesn’t do to shoot yourself in the foot before you know your options.”

Jasper clenched his fists but nodded his understanding. He just couldn’t help it. Being around so many ‘Vints made his skin crawl and his blood chill. “Go on,” he said to the two mages.

“Well, whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you,” Felix finished, leaving a terrible taste in Jasper’s mouth. It was bile. Tasted like despair.

“Why should I trust you?” Jasper said flatly. “I have never in my life met a trustworthy ‘Vint, and I’ve known _quite_ a few over the years. I seem to attract them, like mosquitoes. Or wasps.”

“I’m working against my father for the same reason Dorian is,” Felix explained, a spark of defiance in his eye. As if he knew Jasper had every right to be suspicious and distrustful, but he would not play into those fears. “I love my father, and I love my country. But this? Time magic? Cults? What he’s doing now is madness. For his sake and yours, you have to stop him.”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian quipped. “There’s already a hole in the sky.”

“Really? Hadn’t noticed,” Jasper muttered. “But why does he want _me_? Why would he alter time and enslave the rebel mages just to get to me? Aside from this - ” He waved his left hand in the air. It was glowing faintly green in the dim, dusty chantry. “I’m nobody special. Just a mouthy bastard who doesn’t have very good impulse control.”

“They’re obsessed with you, but I don’t know why,” Felix admitted. Jasper shivered; he had had quite his fill of ‘Vints targeting him. “Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You _can_ close the rifts,” Dorian mused. “Perhaps there’s a connection? Or they see you as a threat?”

Felix shook his head. “If the Venatori are behind those time-distorting rifts, or the Breach in the sky, they’re even worse than I thought.”

“Well, fuck this,” Jasper whined. “Just tell me how to stop Alexius, would you? Preferably before he tries to kill me.”

“You know you’re his true target,” Dorian said. “Expecting the trap is the first step towards turning it to your advantage.”

“Please don’t talk like such a ‘Vint,” Jasper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “It rather grates on my poor nerves. Vexes me so.”

No one seemed to find Jasper funny, but he didn’t care, so long as it meant the ‘Vints were leaving him alone.

“Look, I can’t stay here in Redcliffe,” Dorian admitted. “Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way. I can share with your people what I know of his time magic, and we can devise a counter plan. But I want to be there when you confront him. Please.”

Jasper didn’t like this man’s earnest gray eyes and his sweetly dulcet voice, for all the reasons he would normally like them, if that person wasn’t from Tevinter. He avoided making eye contact with him. “Okay. I guess. Not like I have much of a choice, really, I’m just an errand-boy, to be honest. Talk to the Seeker, she’s in charge now.”

Cassandra made a noise of annoyance as Jasper stalked away, out of the chantry. “Herald, get back here,” she called after him, but Jasper didn’t think he could spend another frigging minute in the stuffy building with those two ‘Vints and all that horrible information. The door swung shut behind him, but he didn’t stop walking. He tried not to break out into a dead sprint through the town, afraid that might raise a few too many questions. Away. He just wanted away.

His horse. He remembered his horse, left outside the gates to the village. In the saddlebags were his...medications. He hoped that _someone_ had the brains to have tethered the horses. He doubted they’d go very far, anyway, well-trained and mild-mannered as they were. But nonetheless, he hastened to the gates, delighted to see his mare grazing in the grass.

“Oh, Tallulah,” he greeted, giving her pets and scritches. He dug through the saddlebags, offered her a sugar cube, which she lapped up greedily, and pulled out his own much-needed supplies. Drugs. Whatever. It wasn’t lyrium, so he didn’t feel like it was right to judge him. It’s not like he was addicted. He swung up on the lowest branch of a nearby tree and scaled it easily until he was a comfortable twenty feet off the ground, herb and papers in hand. He rolled with practiced ease, carefully juggling his materials this high up from the ground. Bless Adan for pre-grinding it, the man was seriously a lifesaver.

He patted down his pocket for a book of matches and struck one, the joint hanging off his lip. He lit it and took a deep inhale, relaxing against the trunk of the tree, releasing after a moment in a long, thin stream. He smiled slightly remembering his ex, how he had been able to blow rings. Jasper quickly changed that train of thought and took another hit, letting his eyes drift closed. Maker, he wished he had his guitar about now. The one thing he really missed in Haven was music. There was no need for it when the world was in shambles, though, as much as Jasper desired it. He could never justify buying a guitar to Josephine.

“Herald, please come down,” Cassandra said from below with forced calm. Ah, she was catching on to his antics rather quickly, wasn’t she? “We need to discuss this. We are a team, and you are as much a part of the council as I am. That means we make these decisions together, rather than pawning off the hard choices to someone else.”

“Cassie, my dear,” Jasper called down as he took another long drag, smoke curling out of his nose. “If I have to see another fucking ‘Vint today, I might fall on my own sword. I’m about ready to scratch my own skin off with my nails. I do not like ‘Vints. Once again, talk to Leliana if you want to know.”

“I do not walk to talk to Leliana about this,” Cassandra said. “I want to talk to _you_. And not just because she is not around, but because it is your business and your choice to share this with me, not hers.”

Jasper frowned. That was rather touching. “I’m assuming you don’t smoke any sort of substances?”

Cassandra snorted. “You would be correct, Herald.”

He sighed, leg dangling from the branch. “Damn you. Look, it’s easier if I talk from up here. Are Lady Vivienne and Varric there?”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied instantly. “Would you rather they go?”

“No,” Jasper sighed. “They’ll all find out eventually. ‘Tis the way of gossip, after all. I’d rather they hear it from me.” He took another drag, feeling pleasantly high. Tingly. A little more careless. “I was born to a Dalish clan, as most people know now. Lavellan. Anyway, one day, poor little tyke Jasper wandered too far off from the clan. He ran into Tevinter slavers. They kidnapped him, an easy target. Even better, because little Jasper was a child, and would fetch a high price, as he would put up less of a fight and could be trained to one’s exact standards and preferences.

“Eventually, Little Jasper was able to escape. He ended up in Wycome. An orphan and an elf, little Jasper did not last long alone in the big city of Wycome. He was snapped up by one of the brothels. He had been taken, but forced to pay off non-existent debts: room and board, clothes, healthcare, papers of identification. The owner of the brothel? She was a ‘Vint, too, an expat. Supposedly. She was engaged in slavery as well, just of a different sort. She was as Tevinter as it gets, just not a mage. Every bit as corrupt, though.”

Jasper ended his tale when his joint had burnt to the end. He sighed and started to climb down, despite the protests Cassandra made about him doing that in his current state. “Little Jasper escaped the whorehouse eventually, you know, but he seemed to attract ‘Vints, and every single one of them has betrayed me.” His lip quivered as he slipped up with his first-person/second-person narrative. He had been trying to distance himself, of course, not that it really worked. “Any questions from the audience?”

Silence, predictably. Of course. Everyone had baggage, Jasper knew that, but no one liked hearing anyone else’s, much as they pressed and pried. He sighed. “Sorry for that. Forget it and act like nothing happened, if you like. Just please don’t ask me anymore why I dislike ‘Vints. When I meet a decent one, perhaps I’ll change my tune. Until then, they can all hurl themselves into the Void.”

“Jasper, you have every right to be angry,” Cassandra said with a shocking amount of conviction in her voice. “Truly. But we must...look past ourselves, as Divine Justinia did.”

“Please, don’t,” Jasper said weakly. “I do not give a shit about Andraste or her religion or any of the clergy. You’re really killing my buzz.”

“If you need to talk, you know where to find me,” Varric offered in an undertone as he remounted his horse. “Let’s head back to camp.”

“What of the ‘Vint?” Jasper asked. “The one with the stupid mustache.”

“Dorian?” Varric corrected. “He said he would meet us at camp, taking the back roads to remain hidden.”

Jasper groaned as they rode onward. “If anyone asks, I’m sick. I’ve got...I don’t know, some...flesh-eating plague, no one should come near me. It’s for their own sake.”

Once at the camp, Jasper immediately ducked into his tent, and inhaled the rations offered to him, grumbling for more as his high ebbed and flowed. He rolled over and fell asleep surprisingly easily, considering how taxing the day had been. Proof that his habit was purely medicinal.

***

Predictably, everything went to shit when the rest of the council heard of what was going on in Redcliffe. The solemnity, the anxiety drawn on their faces did nothing to bolster Jasper’s nerves. They were all gathered around what they’d dubbed the war table, which was really just a few crates stacked together to create a mostly even surface, and an old map of Thedas stretched across it, weighed down with a book, a mug of cold tea, a candlestick, a glove.

“So, I guess it’s plan b, then?” Jasper ventured. “Approach the templars, pray they haven’t sold themselves into servitude to a mostly hostile foreign power, and kiss our arses goodbye?”

“As much as I wish we could approach the templars to begin with,” Cullen started, “we cannot ignore the very real threat that this magister now poses with a small army of mages. Ideally, we could have the templars and mages together, but -”

“That would never happen in a hundred years,” Cassandra finished morosely. “At least, not while the Breach remains and chaos reigns.”

“We don’t have the manpower to storm the castle,” Cullen admitted angrily, rubbing at his temples. “The templars, if we had approached them first, could subdue the mage threat -”

“But we did _not_ approach the templars,” Jasper said pointedly. “If you’re going to blame me, Commander, at least say it plainly, and stop it with this could-have/should-have shit. It’s making my head throb every time you speak, to be honest.”

Cullen sighed. “Apologies, Herald. You are correct. I am trying not to blame you, as I know no one could have foreseen this. I am sure the templars have their own can of worms to contend with.”

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by _name_ ,” Josephine reminded them all. “It is obviously a trap.”

Jasper shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time a ‘Vint has tried to trap me.”

“And yet some of us still just want to sit and do nothing,” Leliana said, seething with quiet anger.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

Cullen straightened up, brow furrowed with frustration. “Redcliffe Castle is the most defensible fortress in all of Ferelden. It has withstood thousands of assaults. If you go in there, Jasper, we will have no way of protecting you, and you _will_ die at Magister Alexius’ hand. And we’ll lose the only means of closing these rifts and sealing the Breach. I won’t allow it.”

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius,” Leliana countered, “we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

“And even if we could storm the fortress, it would be for naught,” Josephine sighed resignedly. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition army marching into Ferelden? It would provoke outright war. Our hands are tied.”

“The magister - “ Cassandra started determinedly, but Cullen cut her off.

“Has outplayed us, Seeker.”

Jasper sucked on his teeth for a second before dropping the next bombshell. “Oh, also, in case Cass hasn’t informed you all. The magister’s son told us his father is part of a Tevinter cult that’s apparently obsessed with me. As flattering as that is, I doubt they’ll simply accept my apologies and head back to Tevinter to go about their business.

There was a short amount of twittering among the council before Leliana spoke. “They will remain a threat, and a powerful one, unless we act.”

“We cannot accept defeat now,” Cassandra insisted. “There must be a solution.”

Jasper leaned forward, hands on the table, chewing on his lip. “I’m a rogue, for goodness’ sake. There’s another way inside the castle other than the maingate, I’m sure of it. There must be. A castle that’s been around this long doesn’t simply _not_ have secret passageways, sewer systems, something. We just need to find it.”

A thoughtful look passed over Leliana’s face. “Wait. There is something. A secret passage, an escape route for the family in case the castle were ever infiltrated. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send a number of agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen contradicted, shaking his head. “The agents will be discovered long before they reach the magister.”

“We’ll need some sort of distraction,” Jasper said with a slow grin, gesturing vaguely to himself. “I think I’ll suffice. Won’t be fun, though.”

“Fortunately, you’ll have help,” a new voice announced as the doors to the war room were thrown open.

Jasper spun around, dagger in hand, only to see Dorian Pavus of Minrathous sashaying through the doors as if he owned the place. Jasper very nearly let the dagger fly, but Cassandra had subtly taken a step in front of him - whether or protect the Herald or to stop him from killing the Tevinter mage, Jasper could only guess.

A couple of guards were chasing after him, looking rather harried. “He says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander,” one of them said. “Tried to apprehend him, but you know...he’s a mage….” the guard finished lamely.

Cullen just shook his head, looking terribly annoyed, but said nothing.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” Dorian said simply, with a measure of pomp, smirking like he was inviting himself to a very selective soiree. “So, if you’re going after him, I’m coming with.”

Cullen looked Jasper in the eye. “The plan puts you in the most danger, Jasper. We cannot, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars, find some other way to deal with the mages, if you’d rather not play the bait.”

Jasper grinned widely at them all, running a hand through his loose curls. “Oh, but I make such _attractive_ bait.”

***

Cassandra and Varric accompanied Jasper to Redcliffe, along with Dorian, much to Jasper’s chagrin. He wasn’t happy that they’d let Dorian tag along to Haven - it was letting the enemy in, that’s what it was, but Varric said he could just as easily find it on a map. And now Dorian would be accompanying them _back_ to Redcliffe. For someone who had left Tevinter on his own with very little money, Dorian complained quite a bit about camping.

“It’s freezing down here, how are you all not shivering?” Dorian asked in offense as he draped another cloak around his shoulders and huddled closer to the campfire they’d set up the first night on their trip to the Hinterlands.

“Because our blood hasn’t been thinned with the insatiable urge to hurt and betray others,” Jasper snapped from where he sat near the fire, as far as he could be from Dorian without leaving the warm glow of the fire. He tried not to let the mage see his teeth chattering. “Go back to Tevinter if it bothers you that bad.”

Dorian frowned. “Now, no need to bring all of my countrymen into this, Herald.”

Jasper glared at him. “Oh yes there is,” he insisted. “I’ve never met a decent ‘Vint. I’m rather convinced that all the in-breeding rid them of that trait.”

Dorian sighed. “You seemed much more fun around the war table.”

Jasper snorted. “Sorry to disappoint you. Fun implies letting your guard down, which I can’t particularly do around ‘Vints. Your countrymen made sure of that.”

“I am not my countrymen,” Dorian said softly with a frown, but he seemed to understand that there was no changing Jasper’s mind. He stood up and headed to one of the four tents. “I think I’ll turn in for the evening. Good night.”

Jasper said nothing as Dorian departed, but once the tent flap had shut behind the mage, Jasper visibly relaxed. Varric hit Jasper gently. “Please don’t alienate our few allies, Fluffy,” he grumbled as he sat behind him. “He’s the only ‘Vint willing to help, and we can’t really be very choosy right now.”

“I know that,” Jasper snapped. “I just don’t like it. Doesn’t mean I need to be nice to him. As long as he keeps his distance, I’ll...make an attempt to be civil. Or at least not actively act hostile.”

“Attaboy,” Varric said, patting Jasper’s shoulder. “Get your rest, Fluff, you’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Jasper, unfortunately, was plagued by memories in nightmare form all night long, and woke up feeling rather grouchy, snapping at anyone who asked him if he was okay. He ate his porridge and eggs with a dour expression on his tired face. Bruises beneath his eyes, sleep-tousled hair, a perpetual frown on his lips.

Dorian, at least, seemed to take a hint, and avoided Jasper, which made Jasper feel a tad guilty, which was stupid, because he never felt guilty before the Inquisition got ahold of him. But overall he was much happier with the arrangement of Dorian avoiding him. They set out for Redcliffe at first light, before the sun had properly risen, and rode until midday, when the village came into view. Jasper swung his steed in front of them all, stopping the other three.

“The scouts should already be in position in the village,” he reminded them all. “Before we get there, though...I just want to remind you all not to risk your lives for me, if it comes to that. Please. I’m not worth that.”

“Herald,” Cassandra started, but Jasper had already wheeled back forward and continued into the village.

They left their horses outside the castle, tied to some fence posts. Dorian disappeared, planning to conceal his presence until after they’d first confronted Alexius. The rest of them were ushered through the front gates of the castle by mages wearing similar robes to Alexius’. More Venatori, Jasper assumed. Once in the foyer, a Venatori stopped them.

“Magister Alexius’ invitation extends to Master Lavellan alone,” the mage announced. “The others must wait here.”

Jasper grit his teeth. Cassandra and Varric started to protest, but Jasper held up a hand to stop them. “They go where I go. We can leave, if your magister isn’t okay with that.”

The young mage nodded with a glance to the other Venatori flanking the doors. He then led them further inside the castle, into the spacious throne room, where Alexius awaited them, seated on the throne. Felix stood beside him, looking a tad nervous. Dorian was nowhere to be seen, at least. That was a comfort. He hadn’t yet betrayed them.

“My Lord Magister, the Herald of Andraste has arrived,” the young Venatori said, sweeping to the side of the room.

“With your associates, of course,” Alexius remarked with some amount of vitriol as he rose to his feet. He smiled without humor. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

Fiona stepped forward from the edge of the room where she’d been standing. “Are we mages to have no say in deciding our fate?”

Alexius chuckled. “Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me _absolutely_ with their lives.”

Jasper grimaced, folding his arms across his chest. “Because you simply ooze trust. Fiona, my dear, I welcome your input, as a guest of the Inquisition.”

Alexius sneered. “Very well. The Inquisition needs mages to seal the Breach, and I have them. What will you offer in exchange, Herald?”

Jasper took a few steps forward, sensing Cassandra and Varric tensing beside him. He smirked humorlessly up at Alexius atop the dais. “Alexius, dear, I know you want me dead. Doesn’t take an entire Tevinter supremacist cult to figure that out, you know.”

Alexius looked around in confusion and anger, and Felix started fidgeting with guilt. Not much of a poker face. “Felix, what have you done?”

“Drop the act, Magister,” Jasper snapped. “Felix told us everything. Why are the Venatori obsessed with me and the Breach? What do you want of me?”

“So speaks the thief,” Alexius snarled. “You think you can turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think _you’re_ in control? You’re _nothing_ but a mistake!”

Jasper’s fingers itched toward his daggers. “I’ve been called worse, Magister. Try harder.”

Alexius stood up suddenly, spittle flying from his lips in his anger. “It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One, for this world!”

At this moment, Dorian sauntered in. Such perfect, dramatic timing. “You sound exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be!”

Jasper frowned. Could’ve been a better entrance line.

Alexius looked shocked into speechlessness, his eyes genuinely sad. “Dorian. I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

Jasper frowned. “Who’s this Elder One you keep bringing up? Is that who you serve? Did he kill the Divine?”

Alexius smiled ghostly. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

Dorian shook his head, a look of anger, confusion, and worry mingled on his face. “Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?”

Alexius turned away, and Felix stepped toward him, a tone of resignation in his voice. “Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages seal the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No!” Alexius cried, turning to face Felix, a look of fear and desperation on his face as he grabbed his son. “It’s the only way! He can save you! The Elder One promised. If I can reverse the mistake made at the temple…”

Felix sighed, shaking his head. “I’m going to die, Father. You need to accept that.”

Alexius was shaking his head now, and he honestly looked like he’d lost his mind. “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this elf’s life!”

But the Venatori were already dead, as Inquisition scouts snuck up behind them and slit their throats. The Venatori fell to the floor where they stood, not making a noise. Alexius looked around wildly, like a cornered animal.

“Your men are dead, Magister,” Jasper called out, taking several steps forward, Cassandra and Varric hanging back. “Sucks to suck.”

“No! You...are a mistake. You never should have existed!” Alexius took a step back and raised his hand. A glowing object floated above his palm, sparking and spitting. It rose higher and higher, energy and reality bending around it. Jasper froze on the steps, trying to calculate the best move, or if it was better not to move at all.

Dorian stepped forward suddenly, in front of Jasper, swinging his staff. “No!” he cried, casting a spell at Alexius. The magister stumbled back, the object in his hand flying into the air. Jasper watched as the magic seemed to lose all control, and something entirely unlike the Breach or any rift opened before them: it was a swirling, cloudy cone of energy. In it, Jasper briefly saw all of creation flash there. And then his feet were knocked from under him by the force of whatever magic this was, and he was airborne, his vision went black. He reached out in the darkness for something, anything, his heart racing wildly, and someone took his hand in theirs. He didn’t know who or what it was, but he held on for dear life, praying to any deity out there who would listen to a non-believing elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, you get Dorian and some tragic backstory :) What more could you want? Really, though, tell me what you like, and I can try to work it in to later chapters.


	7. Fuck the Future

He landed in water, entirely submerged and unable to see in the silty water, and then something _heavy_ landed on top of him. Jasper struggled, flailing, pushing whatever it was off of him. He rose to his feet, gasping in a breath of hair, spluttering the revolting standing water out of his mouth, shoving his hair out of his eyes. He glanced at what had landed on him: it was Dorian, sitting up in the water, looking around in confusion, still somehow appearing dapper despite the circumstances. Jasper scrambled away from him, against the wall, but he barely had time to register that they were not in the throne room anymore before a couple of Venatori stormed the room they were in.

“Where did they come from?” one shouted, sword in hand.

Jasper didn’t have time to wonder where these guards had come from, or where they were, or where the others were, or why there was water everywhere. He unsheathed his short-swords and lunged forward, slicing at one of them while Dorian swung his staff and set the other one ablaze.

When the Venatori were dead, Jasper didn’t sheathe his swords. He scowled at Dorian, who was looking around with confusion and intrigue. They were in a cell, evidently, and there was a bizarre red glow coming from the walls all around them. A warm glow, as in it was emanating heat. They were standing knee-deep in stillwater.

“What happened, ‘Vint?” Jasper barked, gesturing around with a dagger.

Dorian didn’t seem to hear him as he peered around at their surroundings. “Displacement? Interesting. Probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us...to what, though? The nearest confluence of arcane energy?”

Jasper blinked. “So it just shuffled us into the dungeons of Redcliffe Castle, you’re saying?”

“Apparently…” He paused, then gasped. “Of course, it isn’t simply just where - it’s _when_! Alexius must’ve used that amulet as a focus to move us through time and space.”

Jasper stared, then sheathed his daggers, hands on his hips. “Shit. That doesn’t sound good, does it?”

“It sounds _terrible_ , depending on when we are and what happened in the meantime,” Dorian admitted bitterly. “Let’s try and figure out where - when - the rift took us, and find a way back. If we can.”

Jasper swallowed. “Love the enthusiasm. So, what, he tried to send me back in time?”

Dorian shook his head. “No, I believe he intended to _remove_ you from time. Erase you. That way, you never would’ve been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and wouldn’t have interfered. The Inquisition’s little surprise must’ve made him reckless, and he used the amulet before he was really ready to. It was unstable, I countered it, the magic went wild, and now here we are.”

A blush was creeping up Jasper’s cheeks as he remembered Dorian stepping in front of him protectively, and then reaching for his hand while they spun through space and time. Luckily, the mage wasn’t bringing _that_ up. Though it wasn’t like Jasper was aware it was a _‘Vint’s_ hand that he was holding.

“Do you know of the Elder One he mentioned?” Jasper asked as they picked their way out of the cell and into the dungeon corridor, rubbing the tattoos covering his arms to rub some warmth back into his body. It was freezing in the dungeons.

Dorian shrugged. “Some magister attempting to ascend to godhood. It’s the same old tune. ‘Let’s play with magic we don’t understand! It’ll make us incredibly powerful!’ Evidently it doesn’t matter if you rip apart the fabric of the universe in the process.”

“What about the others?” Jasper asked. “Did they get sent through time, too?”

“Probably not,” Dorian guessed, shaking his head. “It was a small rift. Alexius wouldn’t want to risk catching himself and Felix in it, of course. No one else was close enough to you. They’re probably still here somewhere, when and where we left them. In some sense. If they’re alive at this time.”

Jasper swallowed down the fear rising like bile in his throat. What if they couldn’t get back? What if they were stuck here? What had become of the Inquisition? What did they do without him? Because as much as Jasper liked to pretend they didn’t really need him, they kind of did. Who would close the Breach? What would happen when the people lost their figurehead?

“Please tell me you’ve got a plan to get out of here,” Jasper said, trying to keep the pleading note out of his voice. The fear, too. He wasn’t going to let on to the ‘Vint just how terrified he really was.

“I have some thoughts on that,” Dorian said happily. “They’re lovely thoughts, like little jewels.”

Jasper tried not to smile wryly at that. He was not going to form any sort of camaraderie with this man, no matter how sincere or smart or witty or attractive he was. Absolutely not. “Let’s just get moving.”

Jasper patted down the body of one of the dead guards with practiced ease. He’d stolen from the dead since he was a kid. It didn’t really bother him anymore; after all, they were dead. What use did they have of their belongings? “Aha,” he breathed when he came up with a key. “Bet you that goes to the door at the end of the corridor.”

And it did. Unfortunately, as they walked, they saw spires of red mineral sticking out of the walls of the castle, pulsing with energy. Jasper blanched. “Red lyrium,” he told Dorian, feeling a little superior that he knew something Dorian didn’t. “It’s regular lyrium that’s been corrupted. We don’t know how it works, exactly, or where it came from, but whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

Dorian stopped suddenly, and Jasper didn’t notice until he’d walked several paces away. The mage was clutching his head, rubbing his temples. Jasper stopped and looked at him warily, not certain if he should approach him or not. “Dorian? Are you okay?”

“It’s just...so loud,” he groaned.

Jasper took a step back from him, a little scared now. “What is? There’s nothing making any noise.”

“It must be the red lyrium,” Dorian guessed, straightening up and blinking, still rubbing his temples. “You’re not a mage, so I doubt you can hear it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jasper shook his head. “Scared? Who’s scared?”

Dorian offered half a wry smile. “No one, of course. But in case you feel the urge to hold hands again, I’m here, Herald.”

Jasper flushed furiously, cheeks burning. “What? Hold hands - what - I did not - you’re delusional, ‘Vint.”

Dorian was chuckling quietly. “Of course, Herald.”

Annoyed and flustered, Jasper pushed past him. He would not be getting chummy with a ‘Vint. No, no, definitely not. If he could just _stop_ getting under Jasper’s skin, that would be great.

They hurried up the stairs through the many levels of the dungeons. Most of the cells were empty, save for huge growths of red lyrium that emitted an intense heat. Jasper kept his distance carefully. Varric had warned him of the effects red lyrium could have even on a non-mage. If he were around it long enough, soon Jasper would hear its song, too, mage or not.

Jasper was snooping in a cell when he heard someone humming. He peeked in a cell and nearly had a heart attack when he saw Varric himself sitting on the floor of the cell, eyes red with the influence of red lyrium, but still very much alive. Jasper squatted before the lock and took out his toolkit, picking the rusty lock with relative ease. Varric couldn’t believe his eyes on seeing Jasper.

“Fluffy,” he said weakly, throat dry. “You’re alive.”

Varric followed Jasper and Dorian, finding his crossbow locked in a chest in the same cluster of cells. As they continued to investigate the area, they found Cassandra, and even Fiona, whose body had become fused with the red lyrium in a horrifying display, flesh becoming one with the mineral.

They told Jasper how a year had passed. A whole fucking year. That nearly knocked the wind out of him. Not just that, but that Alexius was really just a servant. The Elder One was the real one in power, the real threat. He had assassinated Empress Celene of Orlais, and marched on the south with an army of demons. Anyone who stood in his way was cut down by his Venatori servants. But apparently Alexius was still in the castle, locked in the throne room, given limited sovereignty over this area of Ferelden. What a lovely trade-off.

“The Elder One,” Fiona groaned. “More powerful...than the Maker...None stand against him and live.”

That was disheartening, but Jasper gave a stab at flippancy. “Never fought a god before. Should be memorable, at the very least.”

“We need to find the amulet,” Dorian told him with as much authority as he could muster. “If we find it, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact moment we left. Maybe.”

Jasper eyed him. “Maybe?”

Dorian sounded a bit grim. “It might also turn us into paste.”

“Lovely,” Jasper muttered, leading them up toward the upper levels of the dungeons. Maker, how many levels of dungeons did one castle need?

Jasper thought the cells below were bad, but then they found the torture chamber. The stench of death and blood and human waste hung strong in the air. Jasper nearly gagged. There were voices coming from behind a door, muffled. Drawing his daggers, Jasper kicked it open, ambushing the Venatori within. There were only two, and while Jasper filled the first one with holes, the woman they were torturing took care of the other. She was suspended by her arms several feet off the ground. When the guard grew distracted by the sudden entrance, she wrapped her legs around his neck and squeezed and twisted until his neck snapped.

It would’ve been kind of hot, if Jasper weren’t so terrified and nauseated. Then he saw the woman was Leliana, cheeks sunken and covered all over in bruises and cuts. Her robes were torn and soaked in blood. Her eyes were empty as Jasper rushed forward to let her down, but they glittered when she recognized him.

“Jasper!” she gasped, voice raspy. “You’re alive.”

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Jasper mumbled as he helped her to her feet. She was stronger than he gave her credit for, though, and shrugged him off.

“Forget safe,” she said coldly. “If you came back from the dead, you need to do better than safe. You need to end this. Do you have weapons?” Jasper nodded, watching with concern for the woman as she crossed the room to a locked chest. She picked the lock and it popped open. She took out her old bow and a quiver of arrows from within. “Good. The magister is probably in the throne room.”

Dorian shared a confused glance with Jasper. Jasper hated that they were sharing glances, but he did rather like the man’s unusual gray eyes. And even though they’d found their companions, Jasper knew that these were not the people he remembered. “You...aren’t wondering how we got here?” Dorian asked Leliana.

“No,” she replied simply as she straightened, armed now.

Despite her answer, Dorian continued. “Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, this Elder One - it was never meant to be. If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

“And mages always wonder why people fear them,” Leliana said darkly, despite being one of the supporters among the Inquisition’s council of meeting with the mages. “No one should have this power.”

Dorian tried to explain, again, how this was possible, the mistakes Alexius had made, but Leliana cut him off, her voice gravelly and deadly.

“Enough!” she said with finality. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. But I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was _real_.”

Jasper and Dorian were stunned into silence. Shamed, really. Leliana was right. But if they managed to turn back time and prevent this, no one would suffer. And they would know the Elder One’s plans. They could stop this all from happening.

There were rifts, new ones, with horrific demons that surrounded them. It took all their efforts to close these rifts as they moved upward, to the main floors of the castle. It was destroyed, piles of rubble and spires of red lyrium here and there. But there were familiar, almost normal artifacts scattered throughout. A portrait, torn and crumbling. A tapestry, tattered and stained. It was a bit unsettling.

The grim reality didn’t quite settle upon Jasper and Dorian until they exited that part of the castle, into a courtyard that connected to the wing with the throne room. The air itself was green and hazy. They both froze, staring up into what was supposed to be the sky. However, it had all been swallowed by the breach, which now conquered the entire heavens. It was unbelievably _huge_ , roiling and boiling, spitting out asteroids intermittently.

The Elder One had been the one to cause the explosion at the Conclave, and tear open the Veil into what had become known as the Breach. The Venatori had helped, of course, but the Elder One was the brains behind it, evidently. Jasper understood that this unknown man was immensely powerful, but how? Where did he come from, and where did his power come from? Someone like him didn’t just _appear_. They were a normal person at one point, clawing their way to greatness. But no one seemed to know anything about him. None of them had even seen him.

They fought more and more Venatori as they got closer to the throne room, battling past the point of exhaustion. Jasper and Dorian were the only ones who had been carrying any sort of health potion, which they had shared amongst the others despite their protests. And Dorian was draining the last of his lyrium draughts. He and Jasper shared an anxious look, and Jasper wondered at which point he’d started thinking of Dorian as a comrade. Even if he was a damned ‘Vint.

They were outside the throne room now. This was it. Their one shot at getting back to the past, Dorian’s and Jasper’s present. If they fucked this up...Jasper tried to think happy thoughts, but it was difficult in such a desolate place.

Inside was Alexius, standing on the dais, facing away from them. He didn’t move, even though he must’ve heard them. Beside him, crouched on the floor drooling from the mouth and staring blankly, was Felix. Jasper felt a sudden swell of rage sweep through him, carrying his footsteps forward despite the small voice in his head telling him to stop, be calm, think this through, be careful. It was such a small voice, compared to the wave of rage that overcame him.

“‘Sup, bitch boy?” Jasper said by way of greeting, that small voice in his head growing smaller and smaller as his rage grew bigger and bigger. This _bastard_ had done this. He’d tried to fucking remove Jasper from time itself - how the fuck was that even possible?

Alexius did not seem to care what Jasper had said. “I knew you would reappear. Not when, or where, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked, voice heavy with anger and perhaps regret - regret that he couldn’t do anything for his former mentor. “What you did to the world? To yourself?”

Alexius shook his head, still not facing them. “It does not matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“It _does_ matter,” Jasper insisted. “I will undo this.”

“I’ve _tried_ ,” Alexius snarled. Felix stared up at him vacantly. Jasper noticed that Dorian’s eyes were trained on Alexius, full of such pain and love. Jasper looked away, feeling distinctly uncomfortable by it. “There is no stopping this. The Elder One comes now: for me, for you, for us all.”

Jasper’s eyes widened as he saw Leliana on the dais where Alexius and Felix were. She snuck up there without any of them noticing. She grabbed Felix from behind, hauling him up, a blade to his throat. There was fury in her eyes that dwarfed Jasper’s own emotions.

“Felix!” Alexius cried out, moving for the first time. He was terrified, his eyes wide with horror. “Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask!”

Jasper stepped forward. “Hand over the amulet, Alexius, and we let him live.” Not that Felix could be called alive. He was a shell. He didn’t even react to Leliana threatening his life. He was less than even the Tranquil.

“Let him go first, and I’ll swear you’ll get what you want,” Alexius wheedled. Jasper grimaced. Damned magisters could never be trusted.

“ _I_ want the world back,” Leliana hissed. Before Jasper could stop her, she drew her blade across Felix’s throat. Blood spurt forth in a rain that covered Alexius. Felix’s body slumped to the floor, truly lifeless now.

Alexius gaped for a moment, and then he grasped his staff. “No. No!” He let out a burst of force magic that sent Leliana flying through the air. Jasper didn’t see where she landed; he was already leaping forth with his dual swords in hand. Cassandra was right behind him. Varric and Dorian took aim from a distance, and Leliana joined them with determination a moment later.

The magister seemed to have mastered many new magical skills, including opening rifts that spat forth more demons, distracting them from Alexius himself. He also had incredibly powerful barrier spells around him that depleted their stamina and mana significantly. He was impossible to take down, Jasper thought, until Dorian got in close, finally, and ended it. He held his former mentor in his arms as the man died, his last gasps about finally being reunited with his son as he had once been.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he,” Dorian said softly, not really asking a question. Jasper took a wary step forward. The man was still a ‘Vint, but he had proven himself worthy enough in battle, anyway. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications. He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even realize. Oh, Alexius…”

Jasper stopped next to Dorian, not really sure how to comfort the man, or if he even wanted to, or if he should. “We can still go back in time and stop this all from happening. Let’s hurry. The scenery is depressing.”

Dorian seemed to rouse himself and rifled through Alexius’ pockets until he found the amulet. “Oh, it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me, say, an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour?” Leliana repeated in disbelief. “That’s impossible! You must go now! The Elder One is coming.”

Right on cue, the entire castle shook with some great, outside force. Dorian lost his balance and caught himself on Jasper, but Jasper tore himself away hastily. “Please don’t touch me,” he hissed, even though he knew it wasn’t the time or place, and that Dorian hadn’t meant anything by it. But Jasper’s skin burnt where the ‘Vint had touched him, and not in a good way.

“The Elder One,” Leliana breathed with fear as the castled stilled again, dust and debris settling on the ground.

“This is bad,” Varric said. “You need to hurry and get out of here.” Then he and Cassandra shared a significant look, nodding. “We’ll hold the front doors. Once he gets through that, it’s all you, Nightingale.”

Jasper’s mouth fell open. “What? No, we don’t know what we’re up against - you could be walking to your deaths.”

Varric quirked a sad little smile. “We’re dead either way, Fluffy. Just make it worth it.”

“The only way we live is if this day never comes,” Leliana reminded him. She turned to Dorian as Cassandra and Varric left the throne room. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Jasper sat there, head in his hands, as Dorian hovered over the amulet, murmuring under his breath. People were dying for them. For _him_ , specifically, because he was the so-called Herald of Andraste. He was no “chosen one.” He was a pretender. He was nothing special, just an asshole who managed to get stuck in this mess. He was useless. If Andraste did choose him, she put her bets on the wrong horse.

There was pounding against the throne room door. Jasper couldn’t look as Leliana nocked her first arrow, reciting words of the Chant of Light to herself. Jasper stood and joined Dorian, knowing that any moment now they would either zip into the future, or die at the hands of the Elder One. Dorian’s expression was grim. He offered no smile, no witty retort. There was real fear in his gray eyes, but also a fierce determination. Jasper found it hard to look away.

Maker’s ass, if he was crushing on _another_ damned ‘Vint, he hoped this spell didn’t succeed.

Alas. A few minutes later, as demons stormed the room along with Venatori, sparks started emitting from the amulet, a green glow surrounding it. It floated in the air above Dorian’s hand as Leliana loosed her arrows, taking out dozens of demons and Venatori before a greater terror picked her up by the neck. Jasper started forward to help her, but Dorian grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“If you move, we’ll all die!” he shouted over the roar of the demons and the rift that was beginning to open beside them now.

Jasper glanced back at Leliana as a Venatori stabbed his sword through her heart. Her eyes were fixed on Jasper, and he knew that if he screwed this up, she would come back from the grave to kill him herself. But he couldn’t look away from her as she died. It was only Dorian tugging Jasper by the wrist that got Jasper to move, and they leapt into the rift together, clinging to each other in the whirl of wind and energy.

They were deposited with a bit more grace this time, walking easily out of the rift and into the restored throne room. Jasper tore his hand from Dorian rather hastily, fighting the blush rising on his cheeks. Alexius stood before them, confused and terrified, taking a step back as they approached.

Dorian was smiling smugly now. “You’ll have to do better than that, Alexius.”

Alexius fell to his knees in resignation, and Inquisition scouts stepped forward to clap him in chains. Jasper felt almost sorry for him as Alexius talked to his son, who seemed so at ease with the idea that his life was shortened by whatever sickness he had, and that there was no solution, no cure.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with!” Dorian declared happily, but he spoke too soon. Soldiers in the garb of the royal guard marched in through the doors, stationing themselves along the pillars in the room, standing at attention. Following them was a tall, regal woman, looking royally pissed off. Jasper took a quick step away from Dorian.

“Grand Enchanter,” the woman called, and Fiona stepped forward, looking terribly apprehensive. “What is the meaning of this? I allowed you and your mages to take refuge here in Redcliffe, not to oust Arl Teagan and invite a Tevinter magister here!”

“Queen Anora!” Fiona stalled. “Your Majesty, I never intended…”

“I don’t care about your intentions, Grand Enchanter,” Anora said, holding up a hand. “I wanted to help you, and you threw it back in my face. You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

“But…” Fiona floundered, wringing her hands nervously. “We have hundreds who need protecting! Sick, tranquil, children. Where...where will we go?”

Dorian gave Jasper a little shove in the small of the back, and Jasper stumbled forward a bit. He glared at the mage, then strode forward. “Grand Enchanter, I should point out that the only reason I’m here is to get mages to help close the Breach. In case we’ve forgotten in all of the excitement.”

“And what are the terms of the arrangement?” Fiona asked, straightening, such a convenient time to suddenly find her backbone again.

“Hopefully better than what Alexius offered you,” Dorian remarked. “The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?”

Jasper smirked. “You’re not really in a position to be picking and choosing, are you, Fiona? Nevertheless, I offer the mages a full alliance. As equals.”

Cassandra scoffed. “Absolutely not! The mages need to be conscripted, not coddled!”

Jasper glared at her. “Are you the one who got sent into the future, Cassandra? Or who got tossed out of the Breach with a magic hand? Or do you have the power to close rifts? No? Then you are not the one negotiating.”

Cassandra’s teeth were set on edge, her scowled deepened. But she said nothing more, just tightened her fist on the pommel of her sword. “We’ll talk later.”

Fiona stared up at Jasper with relief at his offer of a full alliance. “We accept your offer. It would be madness not to. I pray the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise, Herald.”

“Me, too,” he agreed with a cocky little grin. “I’m sure they’ll see my way. We can’t afford to be divided now.”

“The Breach will be closed,” Fiona said with determination. “You will not regret giving us this chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making t-shirts that say "'sup, bitch boi?" Jasper's gonna have his own line of merch at this point.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! I try to zipadoo through the boring bits we've all played a bunch of times, but those scenes are also so keen in developing the Inquisitor as a person and the relationships between them and other characters. So.


	8. Fuck the Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahah a smidgen of almost-smut for y'all. A warning and a promise. Enjoy.

It took the better part of a week for the five hundred or so mages to pack their scarce belongings and make the trek to Haven. They were really rather strapped for supplies, cramming three or four people in a one-man tent. But soon they would be back in Haven, still cramming too many people into too few tents, but at least they’d be off the road and settled. And they would be ready to close the Breach.

Jasper, predictably, got an earful from the council. Cullen, of course, was the most vocal, insisting there would inevitably be dozens of abominations amongst the mages, blood magic, all this hooey-phooey nonsense he really didn’t have much basis for, other than his bias. While in Redcliffe, Jasper had seen none of that. The only evil magic in the area belonged to the ‘Vints. Well, except Dorian, and he had done a thorough inspection after they allied with the mages, to make sure they were hiding nothing.

“If we rescind an offer of full allegiance with the mages, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst,” Josephine explained impatiently to Cullen, clearly having heard this tirade before.

“What were you thinking?” Cullen snarled at Jasper. “Turning the mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

Jasper didn’t back down from Cullen’s intense stare. “Eat my shit, Commander. As if you templars really did a fucking spectacular job controlling them in the first place. Well done, _Knight-Commander_.”

Josephine, Cassandra, and Leliana shared a worried look. Jasper had used the former templar’s old rank, and it very obviously did not sit well with any of them. The muscle in Cullen’s jaw was jumping, but paradoxically, being reminded of his less-than-stellar past seemed to cause Cullen to reign himself in.

“How many lives will be lost if they fail?” he asked softly, with no less heat. “With the Veil torn, the threat of possession…”

“Look, Cullen,” Jasper said, trying also to control his temper. “If the mages freak the fuck out and start sprouting abominations and casting blood magic rituals, then we can start imposing restrictions. But I don’t think it’ll get to that point. I believe the mages can self-govern, police themselves, if we give them the resources. They know how much is at stake. They know what blood magic or an abomination means for their safety and their freedom. They haven’t forgotten that templars exist.”

This seemed to calm Cullen down, slightly, at least for the time being. “May it be on your head, then, Herald.”

“I would have it no other way,” Jasper said with a wry smile.

***

Jasper avoided Dorian as much as possible as they prepared to close the Breach. Josephine was trying to secure shipment of lyrium potions from Orzammar, especially now that the infrastructure of the Chantry was in shambles and no longer maintained a monopoly on the lyrium trade. The mages would need every advantage in facing the Breach.

He had, once again, taken up a pretty permanent fixture in the tavern, but so had the Iron Bull. The qunari took to sitting where Jasper sat, trying to initiate conversation, pulling at Jasper’s worries until they came spilling out. Jasper knew the man was Ben-Hassrath, a spy, really, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as his words flooded out.

“There are just...too many fucking ‘Vints,” Jasper vented one night over a few mugs of ale between the two men. “Too. Many.”

Iron Bull snorted. “Can’t agree more, Boss.” He chugged his ale in just a couple gulps. Absolutely freaking amazing.

“How do you do it, Bull?” Jasper asked. “You got that ‘Vint on your team, Krem. He seems decent enough, but I just can’t shut off that switch inside me that hates him simply for being from Tevinter. I’ve spent so long hating all of Tevinter.”

Bull shrugged. “It’s easy to hate a whole group of people. But it takes too much energy to hate individuals, especially for things the individual hasn’t even done. Sure, I hate Tevinter just as much as you, Boss, but I don’t hate Krem, because he’s not the whole country. He’s just Krem.”

Jasper gnawed his bottom lip, eyes swimming with Dorian’s face. “But he _is_ the country. He’s an altus, he represents everything they stand for: the corruption, the slavery, the kidnapping, the trafficking, the blood magic, the plague of betrayal that rots them to the core.”

“We’re not talking about Krem anymore, are we?” Iron Bull stated rather than asked.

Jasper was blushing. He buried his face in his hands. “I just...No one likes ‘Vints, let’s be real. But everyone likes Krem. The others seem to get along with Dorian. I want to not...be a ball of fury and hate every time I see them, but I can’t just _stop_.”

“They’re just people, just like you,” Bull said gently. Jasper was sure that Bull had no intention of dealing with Jasper’s traumatic bullshit and his sexual interests when he signed on for the Inquisition. But now Bull was Jasper’s dad, whether he liked it or not. “It’ll take time, Jasper, before the red-alerts go away. But they will, eventually, if you work on it.”

Jasper mulled that over all night. Iron Bull was right, sure, but Jasper had no clue how to go about it. He had no clue how he was supposed to let his guard down. He had no idea if that was a wise thing to do, considering the paradigm he’d developed to help himself survive: never trust a ‘Vint.

***

“Solas?” Jasper asked, interrupting the elf’s conversation with Dorian. Jasper very pointedly ignored the ‘Vint. He would stay true to his word to Varric. As long as Dorian left him alone, Jasper would leave him alone. Only, the stupid fucking dumbass ‘Vint didn’t seem to want to leave Jasper alone.

“Ah, Herald,” Solas greeted, yet Dorian remained, eyes roving over Jasper with interest. “Dorian and I have been discussing how the mages will close the Breach.”

Jasper quirked a brow. “Oh? Do we know if I’ll be a grease stain in the Temple of Sacred Ashes at the end of all this? Or will I still have my dashing good looks?”

Solas frowned, but Dorian laughed. Jasper ignored his charming chuckle. Solas spoke instead. “Did you have something you wished to discuss?”

Jasper kicked a rock at his foot, crossing his arms over his chest. He had, actually, wanted to ask the elf about his chances of survival, since Solas knew the most about the Fade and the Breach - which still wasn’t much, honestly. But now that Jasper was here - even if Dorian weren’t there - he’d lost his nerve to ask. He defaulted to his flippancy. “Just wanted to let you know that if I die, you can have my hair.”

Solas’ lips thinned slightly. He was not amused. “That is generous of you, Herald.”

Jasper shifted. “Okay, well, that’s all. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?”

He started to walk away, but bristled when Dorian followed him. “Herald, I wanted to ask you, do you have any experience with magic? At all? Read any books on theory, even?”

Jasper shrugged, trying to put more distance between them, but Dorian’s legs were longer and outpaced him easily. “Tevinter, I don’t know how to make myself clearer when I say leave me alone.”

Dorian tutted. “And here I was, thinking we bonded in that horrific future we survived together.”

“I don’t bond with _‘Vints_ ,” Jasper growled, his mood gradually turning more dour, Iron Bull’s words about how _they’re just people_ quickly being swallowed up by his conditioned hatred for Tevinter.

“Again, with the bigotry against my fellow countrymen,” Dorian said with exasperation. “I still don’t understand what I as an individual have done to deserve your ire.”

Jasper faltered, remembering similar words, not nearly as fancy-pants, being uttered by another gorgeous ‘Vint, a lifetime ago. He felt breathless. He nearly stumbled on the ice and packed snow, but Dorian’s hand shot out to steady him. Jasper froze up instinctually and shoved the man off roughly, taking several steps backwards as he tried to regain his breath.

“Herald? Are you alright?” Dorian pressed, but stayed far enough away. “Did I...say something?”

Jasper blinked, surprised to feel tears pricking his hazel eyes. “I...no...I just remembered...you jogged a memory. I just didn’t expect it to...hurt so much.”

Dorian looked worried, but his features softened. “Ah. I take it I’m not the first person to question your complete vitriol toward Tevinter?”

Jasper laughed weakly, but it was half-hearted, no humor behind it. “No. Though most ‘Vints I encounter don’t live long enough to ask, so count yourself lucky.”

They stood there a moment, neither looking at the other, awkwardness thick around them. Jasper wasn’t sure what kept him there, but he felt it imperative that he not make the first move. Dorian finally spoke after a moment. “Herald, if it really bothers you so, I will...leave you alone. As much as possible. And I shall depart as soon as I’ve seen this through. I do not wish to cause you pain, even if I am not sure _how_ I am causing it.”

There it was. The Maker-damned lump in Jasper’s throat. Fuck. Worse than a self-obsessed, ignorant, egotistical ‘Vint was one with a sense of awareness, compassion, and the brick-headed determination to break down Jasper’s walls. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Augustus had been just as keen to Jasper’s internal quandaries. And he had so expertly picked him apart and torn down Jasper’s walls. And then he’d ruined everything, leaving Jasper even more distrustful of ‘Vints.

Jasper didn’t want to answer Dorian. He didn’t know what to answer Dorian. If he was being totally honest, Dorian seemed nice. He seemed genuine. He seemed fun. He was a flirt and he was obnoxious, and in anyone else, Jasper would have loved those traits. In a ‘Vint, it just made him that much more of a wildcard. Jasper didn’t know how to handle a ‘Vint that wasn’t self-absorbed and evil.

Dorian seemed to take Jasper’s silence as answer enough, and straightened. He nodded once to Jasper before walking away, leaving Jasper to his memories and his thoughts.

Jasper hadn’t thought of Augustus in a long time, not until this whole debacle with the Breach began. His lover. His partner in crime, quite literally. Augustus had been the leader of a gang in Wycome. It didn’t sound like a fairytale by any means, but it felt like it. The world was perfect, always at their feet, everything within reach. And then Augustus had pushed too much, too hard, and Jasper had ruined everything.

What Augustus did was bad enough. What Jasper did was worse.

“Fluffy, you doing okay?” Varric asked, rousing Jasper from his memory-induced stupor. Jasper shook himself a few times before he was able to focus on the dwarf and respond. He was still standing along the path where Dorian had left him, staring off in the distance.

“Never been better, Varric,” Jasper replied with a sardonic little smirk and an air of nonchalance. “Simply contemplating my odds of survival, as one does in this situation.”

Varric sighed, looking up at the Breach. “I don’t envy you, Fluff.”

Jasper pouted. “Surely that’s not true? You’ve never wanted to be thrust bodily into the Fade and have no souvenirs to show of it, except a lousy marked hand that can fuck with the Veil?”

“I’d rather have an overpriced mug,” Varric chuckled. Then he sobered. “I know you’re just reflecting, but I’m not here to call you out on that right now. Just know that we’ve all got your back, Jasper, no matter what.”

Jasper smiled genuinely at Varric. “I appreciate it. Hope you say the same if I don’t die.”

***

The handful of days full of preparation passed in the blink of an eye to Jasper, but they were also simultaneously the slowest, tensest days of this life. Before he knew it, they were walking the short trek to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the epicenter of the Breach. He was at the fore of the unit dedicated to closing the Breach at all costs. Cassandra and Solas were at his sides, the mages behind them. Not the entire bulk of the mages, of course. Only those who had passed the Harrowing and had proved themselves competent at wielding magic safely, without fear of possession.

Jasper hadn’t seen the Breach up close since he’d managed to sloppily close it, weeks ago. And back then, he’d been half-sure it was all a dream. Delirious with pain and half-baked visions of what had happened, disoriented by battle and blood and desperation. He didn’t remember it looking so pretty, honestly. If it weren’t such a pain in the neck, what, with blocking out the sun and spitting out demons, it would be rather pleasant to look at. Today, despite that, it was just menacing. He didn’t know what awaited him. If this were possible or not. If they would all die. If he would fall, unable to withstand the magic being pumped through his mark, the focal point. If he died and didn’t manage to close the rift, what would they all do?

He shook himself, rubbing his hand over his right arm, the tattoos of his past hidden beneath the fabric. He had never worried about any else’s skin but his own and that of his kin. His kin being his former mercenary comrades, not his old clan. The Inquisition was really doing a number on him. Next, he’d be hosting charity galas and adopting orphans.

He shivered. Perish the thought.

Dorian kept his promise, at least, hanging back behind the others that Jasper had personally recruited. He seemed to float between them and the mages, not quite fitting in either spot, not quite wanted in either spot. Even if the others didn’t have the same vitriol toward ‘Vints, no one really liked them anyhow. They were all a bit wary of Dorian. It would take a bit more than stopping his former mentor from ripping apart the fabric of time for anyone to really trust him, much as they may like him with a drink between them.

Jasper felt uncomfortable at that notion, as he was fairly certain the opposite was true for him. He did not like Dorian. He hated Dorian merely on the merit of being Tevinter. He really would rather have nothing to do with the man. But, somehow, he trusted him to have his back in a fight. If Jasper was going into battle, he may not like Dorian’s stupid quips, but he trusted Dorian to have his back. He had his back in that dark future. He had protected him, even when he didn’t need to. It really, really made Jasper uncomfortable. This was weird. This was uncharted territory, and it scared Jasper, just a tad.

Not that he would be admitting that to anyone any time soon.

The day was dreary, threatening rain. As Jasper approached the center of the temple where the Breach had originated, his mark started to spark and flare painfully. He grit his teeth against it, ignoring the pain as he, Cassandra, and Solas descended into the foundation of the temple. The mages stood above them on the ruined walls, staves in hand, faces grim as they were faced with the Breach, up close and personal.

“Mages!” Solas called out. “Focus past the Herald! Let his will draw from you.”

Jasper wasn’t certain if he was supposed to give a speech or something at this point, to bolster their determination and faith. He wasn’t particularly good at speeches. And he felt like he was about to throw up, so he kept his mouth clamped tightly shut.

Without looking at his final companions, Jasper stepped forward, arm extended. He knew that amongst the mages were Vivienne and Dorian, Fiona, countless others who just wanted to see this over and done with. As he approached the rift leading up to the Breach, the mark throbbed desperately, as if it could sense its kin. Sparks started dancing up Jasper’s arm, and he felt it slowly go numb. Still, he continued toward the Breach. He had come too far to pussy out now.

The mages drove their staves into the ground, kneeling, channeling their magic through the focus on their staves. Jasper gasped, feeling a rush like no drug had ever produced for him. Magic coursed through his body for the first time in his life. Is this how the mages felt all the time, this power? He nearly collapsed from it, but he kept on forward, hand extended. A beam of energy lanced between his hand and the rift, and a deep thrum could be heard in the temple, the thrum of ancient magic being brought to heel.

The Breach didn’t want to seal. The rift did not want to cooperate. Jasper could feel the Veil in his fingers, this old magic separating reality from the Fade. The Fade and reality did not want to be separated, they wanted to join together, the way two polar opposite magnets always drew each other. Jasper bit his lip in concentration, forcing the Veil to knit back together, tasting blood as he bit too hard.

The energy grew and mounted and tripled until it was blinding, heat emanating from it, and then the Breach slammed shut with an almighty clap of thunder, the force of it sending Jasper flying backwards off his feet. Everyone in the temple felt the power of it, the force, as it trembled through the earth.

The green light was gone. All that was left was dust, settling. Cassandra was the first to regain her feet. She jumped up, staring around wildly for the Herald, stumbling toward where he had been, just under the rift and the Breach. She shoved others out of her way as she ran to him, desperate to know if he had made it, if he still lived.

She stopped when she saw Jasper’s body on the ground, splayed out. She took another step forward, hesitantly, full of fear and guilt. Then Jasper coughed. He blinked a couple times, staring up at the no-longer scarred heavens. He sat up, nearly blacked out, and then rolled onto his side and puked his guts up on the rubble. He turned and wiped his mouth, grinning at Cassandra.

“We fucking did it!” he declared, leaping up and pumping his fist in the air. He threw his arms around Cassandra, pulling her in for a quick, tight hug, so giddy that it worked, it fucking worked, and he _survived_ , like holy _shit_ , who was expecting that? Cassandra seemed surprised, but returned his embrace, with an actual smile on her face, and an actual laugh.

They returned to Haven in high spirits, the weight of the world removed from their shoulders. Jasper had done what he’d set out to do; the mages had done what they’d set out to do. Everything was peachy. All they had to do now was sort out the deal with the mages and the templars, and they could do that without Jasper. Sure, he would stick around to close any errant rifts left around Thedas, but aside from that, everything was hunky-dory.

Except that they didn’t know what had become of this Elder One, the one who had caused all this bullshittery in the first place. Jasper didn’t care, though. That was a problem for _tomorrow_. Tomorrow. How sweet the word was.

Tonight, they partied.

Anyone who could play an instrument, did. They strummed up lively music, jigs that everyone knew. And every barrel of mead and ale and wine that could be found was opened, drink flowing as freely as the music. Everyone - farmer, pilgrim, scout, soldier - was flying sky high tonight, the imminent threat finally dispatched.

Jasper was certainly taking advantage of the first fun he’d had in a long while. Everyone wanted to get him a drink, to talk to the Herald of Andraste, to bask in the glory of his victory. Jasper was fine with that. He drained flagon after flagon and danced with anyone who asked, spinning drunken circles around the grand bonfire erected in the center of Haven. He danced with Josie and Varric and so many shy village boys and girls who admired him with awe. He laughed at jokes and told his own, so fucking high on life at that moment.

He wasn’t dead. Really, now, who saw that coming? He couldn’t believe it.

He stumbled away from the bonfire to catch his breath, cool his steaming hot skin. He braced himself against a wall, watching everyone dancing. None of them really thought they would survive, really. If he died before closing the Breach, they were all goners, weren’t they?

Jasper felt the burn of eyes on him and glanced to his right to see Dorian watching him from the edges of the bonfire, hand on his chin. Calculative. Jasper didn’t look away. Now that he was more than a little drunk, he felt less of the pressure of his brain. Dorian was an evil ‘Vint, but somehow he was a trustworthy one, however that worked, and a damned attractive one at that. Maker, why couldn’t all ‘Vints be trolls? That had been his downfall with Augustus, too.

Jasper looked away finally. Augustus had seemed trustworthy, too, hadn’t he? Handsome and charming, he had Jasper’s back in a fight. Now, though, so distanced from that man and his behavior, Jasper could see the manipulation behind it. All the little things, the insistence that everything he did was for Jasper and their love. The way he controlled who Jasper talked to and when. The way he made Jasper feel so indebted to him for breaking him out of prison. That it was only them against the whole world, no one else.

The cheer went out of Jasper with the force of, well, the Breach, honestly. Tears were pricking his eyes. He jumped when he sensed someone approaching, crunching through the snow toward him. Jasper looked up to see Dorian, a look of concern in his striking gray eyes.

“I know I’m breaking my promise, Herald, but I couldn’t just sit there when you suddenly looked so despondent at your own party,” Dorian said contritely. “Especially since I feel like I may have caused it.”

Jasper shook his head, staring at the last few mouthfuls of beer in his mug. “Drink?” he offered, raising the mug.

Dorian grimaced down at the contents. “I don’t really think this swill you southerners call alcohol is really to be considered ‘drink’, but very well.” He took the mug from Jasper, their fingers brushing, and drained it. The grimace did not go away.

“I hate that you’re from Tevinter,” Jasper said blatantly. “You know that, of course. Tevinters have ruined my life, over and over. The last time, I let them. Funny story, really, but I don’t want to get into it. Why are you here, Dorian? Are you an expat? A runaway altus, tired of the pressures of proper society? A spy, a poor one at that?”

Dorian frowned. “I feel like the mocking is a coping mechanism, isn’t it? If you would really like to know, Herald, I am the scion of House Pavus, a product of generations of careful breeding, and the repository of all its hopes and dreams. Naturally, I despised it all: the lies, the scheming, the illusions of supremacy. But that’s Tevinter in a nutshell, isn’t it? Needless to say, my family was not happy with my choices.”

Jasper quirked a brow. “What choices could an altus make that would piss his family off bad enough to run away? If blood magic is allowed, then I can’t imagine the sort of thing that causes one to flee is homeland for...this. You set all the household slaves free? Get some Soporati chick pregnant? Tear a hole in the sky?”

Dorian chuckled. “Oh, you are charming when you wish to be. Nothing so dramatic. If my family had their way, I would be married to some unlucky girl from a powerful family now. We’d be living in luxurious despair, despising each other as I waited to take my father’s place in the Magisterium. I declined the honor, and thus it’s best I’m far from home. Less of an embarrassment that way, you see?”

Jasper bit his lip, looking up at Dorian. The mage was lying. Well, at the very least, he wasn't telling the whole truth. “So you were disillusioned with the society?”

Dorian shrugged. “Yes, more or less. But I do not hate my homeland. There’s so much potential there, but everyone is mired in the status quo that has been maintained for hundreds of years. We could be so much more. Without the slavery, the oppressive social classes, the blood magic, the corruption.”

“You’re a little revolutionary, aren’t you?” Jasper teased, smirking. “If you care so much about your homeland, why are you here, Dorian? You can’t really change things from the ass-end of Thedas, can you?”

Dorian chuckled, but there was hardly any amusement behind it. “I’m not exactly welcome back home. Not that it matters, really, I’m rather used to being a pariah. It adds to my charm. I can do more for Tevinter here. If the Venatori succeed, it’ll set my homeland back a thousand years. I’m sure some magisters would disagree...but that’s why we kill them.”

Jasper smiled, glanced away. “Looks like there’s a lot of little projects the Inquisition will be overseeing now. Closing the remaining rifts, hunting down Venatori, sorting out the mages and templars, finding the Grey Wardens.”

“Will you be sticking around?” Dorian asked, and Jasper decided it was okay to convince himself that he heard hope in Dorian’s voice. That it was okay to not be alarmed by that. He took a breath, shoved the hesitation down far beneath the alcohol that was running merrily through his veins.

“I’ve got nowhere better to be, really,” Jasper answered, looking back up at Dorian. Maker, the man’s gaze was intense. Icy silver, flint gray. Jasper was staring, he was aware of it, but he didn’t stop. Maybe if he just got it out of his system, hit it and quit it. Just tonight, maybe, while he could use being drunk as an excuse… “You’re, like, really hot, Dorian. You know that, though, don’t you?”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his mouth dropped open comically, but he recovered quickly. “You’re not too bad yourself, Herald. See, I knew you were a man who recognized quality when I first met y- ”

Jasper grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer. “Stop talking, Dorian. Do you want to mess around, or no?”

Jasper watched Dorian’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, watched his eyes dart to the multitude of people still partying just a few yards away. “Perhaps somewhere a little more private, hm?”

Jasper grinned and grabbed Dorian’s hand, pulling him away from the firelight and toward the direction of his cabin. But the moment they were out of sight from the villagers, Jasper shoved Dorian against the wall of the chantry, pressing their bodies together as he claimed the mage’s lips. Dorian responded eagerly, sighing into Jasper’s mouth as he buried his bejeweled fingers into Jasper’s curls. Dorian’s mustache was rough on Jasper’s lip, but that was hot. It was a slightly awkward position, since Jasper was half a head shorter than Dorian, but Dorian was putty in his hands.

Jasper took such joy in running his fingers through Dorian’s perfectly coiffed hair. He messed it up on purpose, and Dorian pulled back, panting. “Watch it, Herald. My hair is very expensive.”

Jasper was grinning. He pulled Dorian’s face back to his, biting on Dorian’s lip a little. Dorian groaned, and Jasper felt his blood set on fire at the noise. He ran his hands over Dorian’s back, nails digging into the fabric, and then to his front, desperately undoing all the damned buckles on his robes. Andraste’s ass, who decided it was a good idea for clothing to be so hard to remove?

Dorian’s hands were on Jasper’s hips, fingers digging into his ass, and Jasper whined and pressed his half-hard member against Dorian’s thigh, craving any sort of friction, even through so many layers of clothes. Dorian ran his hands under Jasper’s shirt and up his smooth, leanly muscular back. Dorian broke the kiss and trailed his mouth over Jasper’s jaw and to his ear, leaving messy open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Dorian kissed Jasper’s earlobe, then licked a trail up the shell of Jasper’s sensitive ear, eliciting a high-pitched, breathy moan from the elf.

Jasper was about to tear Dorian’s trousers off when alarm bells went off. Literal alarm bells, not the ones inside Jasper’s brain that warned him away from ‘Vints. The irony and coincidence was not lost on him, however. Jasper pushed Dorian back, both of them panting heavily in the cold temperature, puffs of breath steaming between them. They shared a look of worry.

“What is that?” Jasper asked, taking a step away and straightening his clothes. He wiped the back of his hand across his slightly swollen lips. “Pavus, please tell me you have nothing to do with this.”

Dorian stood next to him, redoing his buckles. “I swear, Herald, I have no idea what’s happening.”

Jasper looked up at him. He wanted to believe him, but Iron Bull’s advice was hard to listen to right now.

Jasper stopped by his cabin, slipping into his leathers and strapping on his potions belt, along with the sheaths for his daggers over his shoulders. He hurried to the front gates of Haven, the villagers and soldiers who had been dancing and drinking now running wildly around without direction. Cullen came running forward, directing people around, restoring some order.

“Forces approaching!” he declared. “To arms!”

Soldiers ran toward the walls around Haven, hastily assembling barricades out of anything and everything they had available to them. No one had anticipated a siege. No one had expected the battle to be brought to Haven. So far, the Inquisition had been on the defensive, ever since the initial explosion. Now it was chaos as the tables were turned. But by whom?

Jasper sprinted through the masses of people running about, joined by Dorian at his side. They reached Cullen at the gates, and Cassandra was only a step behind. Josephine and Leliana appeared beside her.

“Cullen?” Cassandra prompted with distress.

“One watchguard reporting,” Cullen said, very businesslike. Jasper was surprised; guards never went out in anything less than a pair. “It’s a massive force approaching, the bulk already over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked.

“None,” Cullen replied grimly.

“None?” Josephine repeated with wide-eyed shock.

The council started bickering amongst themselves. Jasper felt sick. Then there was a pounding at the gates, and the sound of swords ending someone’s life. They fell silent as the pounding continued.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” a desperate, youthful voice called out.

Jasper ran forward and pushed the gates open, even as Cassandra and Cullen yelled at him to stop. That was the voice of a _child_ , for Andraste’s sake! This wasn’t the time for considering anything other than helping. On the other side were several dead bodies - all of them belonging to men in armor that Jasper did not recognize. And a young man, a teenager, really, standing among them, dual blades hanging at his side. He was a bizarre sight: not wearing proper armor, just farmer’s clothes, and a large, wide-brimmed hat that flopped into his face, concealing his features.

Cullen followed Jasper through the gates, his sword drawn, but Jasper held an arm out to stop the commander from attacking. The boy spoke. “I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you...You probably already know.”

Jasper blinked. “What? What’s going on? What do you know?”

“The templars come to kill you,” the boy replied softly, his voice dreamlike.

“Templars?” Cullen barked, making the boy jump back in fright. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole stared unblinkingly at Jasper with big, wide, pale eyes. His irises were such a pale blue, they were almost white. “The templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” He leaned in a little too close for comfort to Jasper, but leaned right back the other way, pointing up at a crest on the mountain.

Jasper squinted. He could just make out a man in templar armor that was tinged red. And walking up behind him...Jasper blinked. His eyes must’ve been playing tricks on his mind. It was a sick, twisted creature, taller than any man, or qunari for that matter. Chunks of what seemed to be red lyrium protruded from his emaciated, skeletal form.

“I know that man,” Cullen breathed. “But this Elder One…”

“Cullen, if you knew what _that_ was, I’d be worried about the sort of company you keep,” Jasper said quietly, voice shaking despite his best efforts. That thing was unnatural, spine-chillingly so.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole repeated.

Jasper swallowed roughly. No kidding. “Cullen. Tell me you’ve got some plan cooking in that beautiful, blond head of yours.”

“Haven is no fortress,” Cullen replied solemnly. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out to the trebuchets and hit that force. Use everything you can.” Then Cullen turned to the soldiers, scouts, and mages behind them that were watching the army slowly approaching. “Mages! You - you have sanction to engage them! That is Raleigh Samson out there leading them, he will not make it easy. Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies. As you can tell, I am an impatient person. I hope you enjoyed that little taste, but I tell myself if I interrupt their first time trying to get it on then it counts as "slow-burn," right? Ahahahhahahahaah sorry. You won't have to wait that much longer, I promise, probably like two or three chapters. Because shit is hitting the fan.
> 
> I feel like the scene transitions are rather choppy and don't really flow, but I also don't care that much, and neither do you, lbr.


	9. Haven's Fucked

Cullen gave an amazing, inspirational speech. The soldiers fought with an unstoppable vigor to protect Haven and the pilgrims and villagers who were non-combatants. They held back the templars long enough to cause an avalanche with the trebuchets on the next mountain over, which buried the templars in the valley below. A cheer went up amongst the soldiers and mages, fighting side by side for the first time. Jasper gave Sera a bear hug as they watched the snow race down the far mountain, so quiet from this distance. They were ready to get back to partying, when a devastating, ear-splitting roar tore through the mountain air, sending everyone to their knees, clutching their heads.

A dragon. A fucking dragon. Of course they had a dragon.

It swooped low over the outer barricades, destroying at least one of the trebuchets, then it looped back up. Jasper tackled Varric out of the way of the explosion it caused when it spat out red, crackling lightning. They struggled to their feet, eyes wide with fear. Cassandra ran over to them, Dorian at her heels. Where were the others? Sera had been nearby, as had Blackwall and Cole, just a few moments previous. Jasper swallowed. Wherever they were, wherever the rest of his companions and fellow council were, Jasper hoped they’d survived.

“We can’t face it here!” Cassandra shouted over the roaring fire as they hurried back toward Haven. “We have to...do something!”

“No kidding!” Jasper yelled. “Come on, everyone back to the gates!”

They ran past the forge and the stables, which were empty, at least. Either the horses had been rescued, or released to fend on their own, but at least they weren’t cooped up to die. Maker, there were so many bodies leading up the steps to the gates, both templar and Inquisition alike, some smoldering in the fires.

Cullen ushered them in through the gates, shutting it as Jasper took up the rear. It would do no use against a dragon, however. Cullen started barking more orders, sending everyone up to the chantry. The chantry was old, had been standing since before it was recorded in Fereldan history, but that didn’t mean it was a fortress. Even if it were, what was a fortress to a dragon?

But it was all they had. Jasper tried helping as many people to the chantry as he could, but just as many died as made it in. Chancellor Roderick waved them into the chantry even as he clutched his gut, a huge scarlet stain across his white robes. He stumbled, Cole supporting him. Jasper looked away. The pompous, self-righteous cleric deserved it. Maybe it was a callous thing to think, but Jasper didn’t care. He just wished Roderick wouldn’t die a hero, protecting women and children from a templar.

Cullen grabbed Jasper by the shoulder and pulled him aside, away from the bulk of the villagers cowering in the pews. “Herald, that dragon stole back any time you may have bought us with that avalanche. We cannot escape while the dragon circles us. It and the templars will kill everyone!” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “All we can do is make them work for it, at least.”

“The Elder One doens’t care about the village,” Cole said with eerie calmness. “He only wants the Herald.”

Jasper couldn’t breathe. Cullen was right. Jasper had survived the explosion and the Breach and the dark future just to die anyway. He was a lamb being led to the slaughter, wasn’t he? No matter what he did, disaster followed him always. “Why?” Jasper gasped. “Why me? My life has never mattered before - why now?”

“I don’t know,” Cole said slowly, staring at Jasper with those unnerving pale eyes. “He’s too loud - hurts to hear. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them - kill them - anyway. I don’t like him.”

“Jasper, there are no tactics to make this survivable,” Cullen hissed. “The only thing that slowed them down was the avalanche. We could...turn the remaining trebuchets. Cause one last slide. We’re overrun; to hit the enemy we’d bury ourselves. We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

Roderick leaned over to Cole as if whispering something, but his lips didn’t move. Cole listened anyway, then looked over his shoulder through the back door of the chantry. “Of course,” the boy whispered, nodding. “Chancellor Roderick knows a way out. A path. The people can escape.”

Jasper listened. “It’s a plan, Cullen. If we cause a distraction, you could lead the people up this path and to safety.”

Cullen stared at Jasper. “What sort of distraction would be sufficient, though, to stop the dragon and this Elder One?”

Jasper’s heart was beating a million miles a minute, as if trying to complete a lifetime’s worth of beating in the few minutes Jasper would have left as an idea - the only idea he could come up with - formed in his mind. He squeezed his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. A few months ago, in this situation, he would’ve skipped out on his own, left these villagers and their do-good Inquisition councilmen to their own demise. He would’ve watched with a detached pity as the town was destroyed, set ablaze, crushed to smithereens, along with all its inhabitants.

These stupid people, this stupid Inqusition - Cassandra, Varric, Josephine - all of them! They’d done this. They’d softened Jasper’s heart like this. Without him realizing it, they tore away some of the walls he’d put up to protect himself. It was infuriating, really, because now Jasper was faced with a moral dilemma - something he had very little experience with. His self-preservation, versus his duty to see this through.

“Hurting, hating, hoping,” Cole murmured, pale, ghostly eyes fixed on Jasper’s dark eyes. “Why am I like this? Why can’t I be like before?”

“Go,” Jasper said, shooting a sideways glance at Cole. He had rather verbalized Jasper’s thoughts very accurately. “Gather the people and start your escape. I’ll take care of this.”

Cassandra stared at him. “And when the mountain falls, Jasper? What about you?”

Jasper shrugged. “One less bandit to worry about, right?”

Varric sighed. “Kid...you’ve shown us you’re so much more than that. When you set your mind to it.”

Jasper smiled sadly. “Don’t tell your readers that, Varric, you’ll ruin my reputation post-mortem.”

His other companions - Iron Bull, Blackwall, Vivienne, Sera, Solas - watched him sadly as he double checked his dual blades. He avoided their eyes as another explosion and roar rocked the foundations of the chantry, shaking dust from the rafters.

“That’s my cue,” Jasper said with as much good humor as he could summon. He smirked at Dorian, who was watching him with the most pathetic look on his face. He looked like a kicked puppy. As if what they’d been doing before _mattered_. “At least I’ll finally be rid of you ‘Vints, eh?”

He strode toward the chantry doors before he could talk himself out of this or procrastinate by asking Dorian if he was a bottom or a top. He saw the dragon circling Haven like a vulture circling a dying creature. Jasper could see the glow of the fires in the village. This was it. All or nothing.

***

The villagers gathered what few belongings they had managed to bring into the chantry and began the march up the mountain, their steps speedy as if the devil himself nipped at their heels. Which in a way it did. Everyone wondered if the dragon was an archdemon. As they hurried up the next pass, leaving the main mountain behind, they could hardly believe they were still alive, as Haven burned below them and the Herald of Andraste was the only person standing between them and an army.

Dorian stared down at Haven as he shivered in the storm sweeping through the mountains. Leliana was at the rear of the group, head bowed against the wind, purple hood drooping low. She paused, reaching for her bow and arrow. She struck the tip of the arrow against a piece of flint, and it caught fire. She nocked it, took aim at the sky at an angle, and closed her eyes as if in prayer. Then she let the arrow loose and it soared over the tree line.

Moments later, the mountain that Haven was situated on crumbled, an avalanche that obliterated all of Haven below. Dorian closed his eyes and looked away, back toward their path ahead. The snow was really coming down now.

Dorian heard Cullen murmur something along the lines of, “Perhaps he found a way...surprised them…”

But Dorian doubted Andraste would save Jasper twice, if she even had the first time. Miracles like that happened once in a generation. They may have already used up their miracles on the Fifth Blight. The people had their hope, of course. But all hope would do was make them helpless when they found out the truth. Dorian didn’t want to hope. He didn’t think he could bear the inevitable letdown. Jasper was a hero, whether he believed it or not, and they’d all just lost him.

“Cullen, we need to stop,” Josephine urged the commander. “Now. The people are exhausted. If the Elder One didn’t kill them, this storm will.”

Cullen stopped, shook himself, as if out of a stupor. To one side was a sheer cliff wall going straight up, which provided the best shelter they’d seen thus far. It would have to do. “Very well. We have very little supplies, of course, just what was stored in the extra rooms of the chantry.”

They set up the tents, not nearly enough for everyone, even considering how few their numbers were. Maybe half of Haven and the mages made it out alive. They numbered less than five hundred. Too small and too large. They did what they could. People crammed too-many into a tent so that the sick and injured could have more space. There weren’t enough blankets to go around either, so people took to huddling together against the storm. And food? Just the rations with the rest of the supplies. Hardly substantial. Hardly enough for everyone.

Those who were injured had very little hope to recuperate. They simply didn’t have the supplies, the healers. Amongst the mages were very few trained healers. Even Dorian, whose specialty was in _necromancy_ , not spirit and healing magic, was asked to tend to the injured.

Hours passed as the storm worsened. Now that the immediate threat of the Elder One and his dragon had passed, the fear of survival settled in. Where would they go? Where _could_ they go? They had no supplies, what were they going to do? Without the Herald, what would they do? When would they be attacked again?

Varric dropped by where Dorian was sitting, nursing the cuts and bruises all over his body. Varric was quiet for a moment. He’d only known Jasper a short time, a few months, but they’d obviously bonded in that time, more than Dorian had, at any rate. Not that what they’d done could really be called “bonding.” More like...stress relief. Drunken stress relief. Bad decision-making.

“Cullen’s putting together search groups of those well enough to look for Fluf - for Jasper...now that the storm’s passed,” Varric told him. “The more, the merrier.”

Dorian nodded. “Of course. I’ll...do what I can…” He followed Varric to the groups Cullen was dividing up. Dorian joined the Iron Bull and Sera, along with a couple of scouts and soldiers, to backtrack and look for signs of Jasper. Dorian had surreptitiously been leaving whatever he could to mark a trail for Jasper, if he somehow made it up the mountain - a handkerchief here, a buckle strap there. Anything that would give Jasper some indication.

He wasn’t the only one. They passed by lots of debris that seemed purposely left behind. They walked for the better part of an hour, finding no sign that the Herald had made it this far, if he’d even managed to survive. Even if he did survive, there was no telling what condition he’d be in, if he could get this far. Maybe if they could return to Haven...but it was too dangerous.

“Let’s turn back,” Iron Bull said gently but sadly. Snowflakes were gathering on his horns. “No use exhausting ourselves.”

Sera had been sniffling from more than just the cold. She looked up at Bull with watery eyes and shook her head, pulling her cloak tightly around herself as she followed him, stepping in his massive footprints. Dorian stared out at the expanse of mountain that the refugees had trudged through before it had been covered over with fresh snow. He squinted in the dark, searching for something, anything, some sign of hope. It was useless. He started to turn back.

Dorian paused. “Wait, Iron Bull, Sera. What’s that over there?” Dorian pointed to the treeline, at the base of the pines at the edge of the pass. There was something there. Maybe a rock, maybe a shadow... Iron Bull glanced up, then set to trudging through the deep snow, reaching the tree line before Dorian. Iron Bull let out a cry of surprise.

“It’s him!” he called out with shock. “It’s the Herald!”

Iron Bull scooped up Jasper in his arms as Dorian reached him, shocked and relieved. Shocked beyond belief. How…? How had Jasper survived an entire fucking mountain falling on his head? How did one just... _do_ that?

Maybe they hadn’t used up all their miracles yet.

***

The world was bright and blurry. Jasper couldn’t focus on anything, no matter how hard he blinked. He couldn’t see anything. It was all too bright, like the sun, staring into the sun. The Breach. It was the Breach, the glowing green hole. It was everywhere. Jasper was everywhere. He was nowhere.

He was sixteen again, injured and scared.

“Augustus,” he whimpered, looking around wildly, rocking his head from side to side. He couldn’t move the rest of his body. “Augustus, where am I?”

“You’re safe now,” a man’s voice said so softly and quietly Jasper could barely hear him.

“Augustus,” Jasper sighed, licking his lips. “Thank the Maker.” He was quiet for a few moments. “Augustus...hold me.”

“Hold him still,” a woman’s voice commanded, sounding so, so far away. Distant. Garbled, through water, so far away.

That didn’t make sense. A lady? Not Augustus? Of course not, Augustus was dead. Murdered. Jasper was...he wasn’t sure where he was, but he wasn’t a sixteen-year-old any longer, that was for damn sure. Jasper blinked, reaching out. He wasn’t sure if his hands were moving, if his arms were lifting. He couldn’t feel them. But he could see the blood on them. He must be with his friends, his family, the family he had made his own. “Laila...Laila, please. I can’t see…”

“Hush, Jasper,” the woman said again. It wasn’t Laila’s voice. Tears were racing down Jasper’s face, hot and wet.

“Laila...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jasper gasped raggedly. Maker, his throat hurt. Hurt so bad. So raspy. He needed water. “Laila, I love you. I know I never got the chance to say it, but I love you, and I miss you.”

“He’s totally delusional,” another man’s voice. This one was gruff and curt, not smooth and sweet like the first man’s. “I can’t understand a word coming out of his mouth, Enchanter. Should we be worried?”

The woman didn’t reply immediately, and Jasper couldn’t hear anything for a long time. Such a long time. So long he didn’t know if he were asleep or awake, but Laila was floating before him, beautiful and bright and sunny, blurred at the edges, just out of reach.

“Quick, hand me that poultice, he’s bleeding again,” the woman’s voice commanded, so distant. “Maker, he won’t stop bleeding, Dorian, _he won’t stop bleeding. He won’t stop bleeding_!”

“Vivienne,” the first man’s voice said firmly. “We can do this. You know we can. You are an incredibly capable healer, Vivienne, the best of us all.”

It was quiet again. It could’ve been hours or weeks or days or seconds. “You’re right. I apologize. Adan, help me flip him over. Carefully, or we could paralyze him. The bleeding is coming from somewhere near his spine. There we go, easy does it, carefully now. Here, Mother Giselle, put your hand here and apply as much pressure as you can. We need to pinch off the artery. There, good, adjust your grip on the clamps - careful, the blood makes them slippery. Dorian, I need you to hold him down firmly - he won’t like this at all, but we need to drain the fluid from his lungs - a punctured lung, I would assume. Broken ribs.”

The hands were firm. Then there was a sharp, piercing pinch, and he gasped. Pressure, big, big pressure, in his chest. It hurt, it hurt, it was so bad he was going to cry. Why was this happening? Who was hurting him?

“Augustus, I hate you!” he screamed. More hands on his body, holding him down. He was crying, sobbing. He was starting to feel again, and it hurt. Everything hurt. “Stop it, please. Please, please, please.”

“Shush, Jasper, it’s okay,” the man’s voice said. His curls were being caressed, fingers carding through the strands with difficulty, like they were tangled or matted. Something warm and wet on his forehead, wiping away the sweat. It felt good. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be.”

***

Washing the Herald’s blood from his hands was an eerie exercise. Dorian felt sickened by it. The blood was stubborn, too, staining the area around his fingertips and under his nails. Whenever he thought he’d gotten the last of it, he found more.

But it meant that Jasper was alive, for now. It had taken so many of them to help him. The Iron Bull had carried him so delicately in his massive arms, like Jasper was an infant. The Herald had looked so incredibly fragile. His skin was nearly blue with cold; his long ears, tip of the nose, and fingertips tinged pure white, bits of frost clinging to them. That was bad, Dorian knew that, even having only lived in tropical climates his whole life until then.

His leathers were ripped to shit, soaked with blood and frozen to his skin. One arm was at an unnatural angle. The bone was poking out through the skin, ghastly and horrible. Once they had him on a cot under the light of dozens of lanterns, they cut the frozen clothes from his thin body. The damage was worse than they had hoped, better than they’d feared.

Dorian had held Jasper down, using his full weight to restrain him, as even exhausted and weak, Jasper put up a serious fight. He had passed potions and instruments to Vivienne and Adan, the two most experienced healers/physicians in the tent. Other healers took care of minor things like the ankle, the arm, the beginnings of frostbite to his extremities. Dorian had felt rather useless, channelling power into Vivienne and passing her lyrium draughts as she focused so intently on healing Jasper’s internal injuries that they could not see.

“Massive internal bleeding,” Vivienne murmured to herself, perspiration dotting her forehead. “The trauma is...horrifying. How did he manage to walk this far?”

No one put a word to it. Miracle, fate, sheer dumb luck. It had brought the Herald of Andraste back to life, and raised him out of the ashes.

***

There was color this time. Color, and shapes. Still blurry, but Jasper could see some of it. He was in a bed, underneath several blankets, in a tent, staring at the beige canvas ceiling. He felt so heavy and achy and sick. He tried opening his mouth. Felt like sandpaper. Heavy. Thick. Maker, he was so tired. What had happened? Had he gotten blackout-drunk again?

He blinked heavily. There was a woman at the end of his bed. “Laila?” he tried, but his voice was too raspy. He blinked a few times as the woman moved, approaching him, settling on the stool beside him. She helped Jasper lift his head enough to drink from the cup of water she held. He spluttered, the cool water a balm to his arid throat.

His vision was slowly sharpening. It was Mother Giselle. Not Laila. Jasper shook his head as she eased him back down. Of course it wasn’t Laila. Chances were, she died in the explosion at the Conclave, too. No bodies were ever found and identified, dessicated and burnt as they were. It hurt, the loss all over again.

“What...happened?” he gasped, clutching his abdomen. “Ouch...hurts…”

“Don’t strain yourself,” she said in her clear, gentle voice, her leathery face lined with worry. “You survived the impossible, Herald.”

Next, he heard the familiar arguing voices of the council. He couldn’t see them, on the other side of the tent, but he could hear the muffled back and forth. Of course they were still arguing. Why couldn’t they just chill the fuck out for a minute?

Jasper tried to sit up, but pain lanced through his chest, driving all breath from his lungs, and he was forced back against his pillow. He closed his eyes, grimacing, and against the back of his eyelids he saw replayed the moments before the avalanche. Right. That. He reached out for Mother Giselle, his hand a vise-like grip on her wrist. He opened his hazel eyes, and they seemed to have lost some of their usual sparkle.

“I have to warn them,” he said. “The Elder One - he’s an ancient Tevinter magister - he’s been in the Fade before, he claims - said there is no god, no Maker, nothing.”

Mother Giselle frowned worriedly. “That would mean...he would be one of _the_ ancient Tevinter magisters from the stories, who breached the Golden City to challenge the Maker - and the Maker cast them down to Thedas for their hubris, and from them were created the first darkspawn. If what he says is true...I don’t even know what that would imply.”

Jasper grimaced. Shit. ‘Vints were already bad enough. Magisters? Nearly the worst, right behind slavers. But an ancient darkspawn-magister with a god complex who was over a thousand years old? That was fucking horrific. Something Jasper was not sure he, or anybody, united or not, was equipped to handle.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw swirls and vivid colors. “I need to tell them. We’re not safe here. How long was I out?”

“It’s been four days,” she said quietly. “Very touch and go. We very nearly lost you there, Herald. It’s truly a miracle you survived.” After a moment, she stood. “I’ll let them know you’re awake.”

She left the tent, leaving Jasper alone for a few moments. He looked around. It wasn’t a large tent, a lantern hanging from the center to illuminate it. At the foot of his cot, on the ground, he saw piles of bloody rags. He blanched, stomach roiling. That was a lot of blood. He touched the clothes he was wearing; they were unfamiliar, but clean and undamaged. Really big on him. Had his own clothes been in such bad shape?

A moment later, Vivienne strode in, concern on her usually perfectly schooled features. Adan and Dorian followed just a step behind. Vivienne gracefully took Mother Giselle’s place on the stool beside Jasper.

“Jasper, dear, please lift your shirt,” she instructed with a delicate gesture of her hand. He hesitated, blinking owlishly at her, Adan, and, of course, Dorian. What was _he_ doing here? Jasper blushed, remembering what Drunk-Jasper had thought was a marvelous idea to get over the red alerts in his mind about ‘Vints, specifically Dorian. That had been stupid. So, so stupid. All it had done was make Jasper feel rather feverish.

“Come now, Herald, I don’t have all day. The council is waiting like a pack of hungry wolves outside your tent, but I forbade them from seeing you until I did a thorough check-up and made sure you were healing well.”

“Oh...okay,” he acquiesced, rather shy all of a sudden, quite out of character for him. He hoped the light was dim enough that they couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks as he pulled his shirt up to his shoulders, glancing toward the wall of the tent. They’d seen it all before, hadn’t they? Healing him?

Jasper knew there were scars criss-crossing his pale belly and chest, and that they weren’t really that ugly, per se. But he couldn’t help but feel like he was on display, and he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. He usually had no issue with putting his body on display - that was kind of the point of the tattoos covering his right arm, the piercings all over his body. Vivienne poked and prodded along his chest and abdomen, the cool blue glow of healing magic surrounding her small, soft hands. The scars remained, of course; many of them were years old already. Healing magic could work wonders, but it had its limits.

“How’s it look, Doc?” Jasper asked, wincing every now and then with her examination. “Exquisite, I’m hoping?”

Vivienne huffed a soft laugh. “You’re making a remarkable recovery. Once you eat and drink, you should be okay to travel, though you will continue to experience discomfort for some time, until everything is fully set and healed. Find me immediately if you experience any new or sharp pains.” She rose from her seat, looking down at Jasper with something akin to fondness, but that couldn’t be right. “Feel better, Herald.”

Adan placed several flasks on the bedside table, running through instructions for Jasper. “This one’s for the pain - do _not_ take more than two flasks a day, or we’ll be hard-pressed to bring you back again. This one’s to promote the healing of the wound on your back - wish I had a mirror to show you. Nasty thing, that was, nearly paralyzed you. Piece of debris got wedged in. Anyway, you’re alive, and we want to keep you that way, so take this every four hours. This one’s for your lungs - eases the pain of breathing, you fucked up your lungs pretty bad, use as needed. This ointment is for the outside of the wounds, apply it every night. And this ointment is for your ears, nose, and fingertips - nearly lost those, you did. Use it every six hours.”

Once he had assured that Jasper knew which potion and salve was for which ailment, Adan left. Jasper wasn’t sure how he was going to remember all that, but he was sure the alchemist would be checking in on him. Dorian still hovered, looking uncertain. An interesting look on him. Jasper felt uncertain, too. He remembered their ill-conceived make-out sesh all too vividly. Usually, Jasper felt nothing like embarrassment about his dalliances and romps, but he also usually was not then rescued from the brink of death by them. He also rarely worked with them in any sort of capacity, and most likely never saw them again. At the very least, he wouldn’t remember them if he did.

But he couldn’t forget Dorian even if he wanted to. Stupid ‘Vint. He tried to sit up a bit. “Well, I hope you liked what you saw, at least?”

Dorian smirked slightly. “Once we washed off all the blood, you were a sight to behold, Herald. Nice piercings.”

Jasper blushed, and remembered his promise to Varric to be civil toward Dorian, and to Iron Bull to try and see ‘Vints as real people. “Varric wants to know where my four non-visible piercings are, for his book. I rather like to keep him wondering, honestly. Makes a more exciting story.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, eyes raking over Jasper’s exposed torso. “I only see three.”

There was one in each nipple and one through his belly button. Jasper waggled his eyebrows, which took more energy and concentration than he expected. He rested back against the pillows, coughing a little. “The last one is a special surprise.”

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but the council pushed inside the tent, cutting him off. It seemed they would wait no longer to interrogate Jasper. Dorian slipped back through the exit without another word, leaving Jasper feeling rather put out. Not that he was _enjoying_ the ‘Vint’s company, of course. That was preposterous. He just wasn’t looking forward to the council haranguing him. The others crowded around him worriedly.

“How are you feeling?” Josephine asked, and Jasper noticed a rim of red around her eyes.

“Like a mountain fell on me, but I suppose that’s to be expected,” he replied with as much cheer as he could summon. No one laughed. He shifted slightly, wincing with the pain. “We need to get moving as soon as possible. The Elder One - his name is Corypheus. He could come back at any time to finish the job, if he thinks I survived.”

“Tell me everything,” Leliana said, face serious and clear. She sat on the stool and leaned forward. “Don’t skip anything.”

“He...said that I interrupted a ritual years in the making,” Jasper rasped. “That I had stolen its purpose. He called my mark the Anchor, said it was made to tear open rifts and enter the Fade, where the Old Gods lived. He was carrying an orb, of some sort. He said he was a Tevinter Magister - one of the ones from a thousand years ago who entered the Golden City and were cast out - he’s, like, part darkspawn, or something. He wants to be a god. He thinks he _is_ a god.”

They all looked at each other. “That’s impossible,” Cassandra sputtered. “A thousand years ago? How - “

“If he has the darkspawn taint, like you claim, Jasper,” Cullen reasoned, “he may have a prolonged lifespan. And that dragon of his - Maker - “

“It could be an archdemon,” Leliana said slowly, and for a moment there was a flicker of fear in her cerulean eyes. Jasper knew she’d travelled with the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight only ten years ago, and that she had helped the Warden face down the archdemon. “The harbinger of another Blight.”

They had been arguing before, but now they were all eerily quiet. Jasper blinked sleepily. “Oh, just another Blight? Is that all? Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a nap.”

“We cannot remain here,” Cullen said. “The threat of Corypheus still remains. We must keep moving - I don’t know where, but Solas claims there’s a fortress in the Frostbacks we may be able to take refuge in. It’s nearly a month’s journey, though, in our condition, and I don’t think we have enough supplies to last even a week.”

“Is it safe enough to send scouts to Haven and scavenge anything useful?” Jasper asked. “Blankets, tents, food?”

“I received reports from my scouts that Haven is crawling with red templars,” Leliana said stonily. “We must continue moving. I will have my scouts hunt whatever game they can, forage for any edible plants. We are short on tents, Jasper, would you mind - “

“Of course,” he answered instantly. “Shove as many folks in here as you can, I guess.”

They all nodded. Cullen spoke. “I’ll have my men start packing up. We’ll be moving in the hour. Jasper, I’ll have a horse prepared for you, you’re in no condition to walk.”

Cullen left the tent, followed by Cassandra, to help him organize the people. Josephine gave Jasper a small smile before leaving, too. Leliana remained for a moment. She looked Jasper in the eye. “The people believe you were brought back from the dead, again, by Andraste. They need to believe this; it gives them hope, the strength and resolve to keep trekking through these perilous mountains. I would like to know what you believe.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow. Andraste and the Maker had never done him any favors. In fact, if they existed, they were doing a real shitty job of running the world. The Maker couldn’t just abandon his creations and expect to be worshipped, that was just shitty. It made more sense just to not believe. That was too esoteric for Jasper, however. “Andraste can suck my dick,” he replied instead. “The Maker, too.”

Leliana’s lips thinned. “Remind me to tell Josephine not to let you interact with any visiting dignitaries or nobles in the future. Or anyone else who’s important.”

Jasper grinned cheekily. “That’s a good idea, Spymaster. Win-win situation, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes. Bit on the shorter side, I think, this time. Sorry. Life is hectic, as you can imagine. School is difficult, my usual routines are out the fuckin window, I'm spending all my time at home w my family, which is GROSS. I'm out of a job and my brother who doesn't live at home has coronavirus and everything is sucky.
> 
> Anyway! Hope you enjoyed this :) Please stay safe everyone!!! I'm trying to get over my funk and pump out more chapters, but ya know. It is what it is.
> 
> Every time I get a kudos, it gives me a lil burst of serotonin :)) thank you!!!!!!!!!


	10. Fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead. Enjoy.

The journey to the fortress Solas claimed to have seen in his dreams took them three weeks to make. For the first two, Jasper was restricted to horseback travel, and even that was pushing things, but it was a necessary sacrifice. If they remained so close to Haven any longer, they would be found by the red templar scouts. So Jasper kept chugging the potions Adan had prepared for him, trying to block out the persistent pain. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to heal fully from this, what with the lack of rest and the constant jostling.

Skyhold. That was the name Solas gave their new home, though he claimed that he did not come up with the name. It was a massive fortress, beautiful in the high mountains. It was fitting, framed against the impossibly blue sky. And of course it was crumbling. From the distance they first saw the fortress, they couldn’t tell what sort of condition it was in. Once they entered, however, they saw that it was in _rather_ a state of disrepair. Considering it had been abandoned for hundreds of years, though, it was fine.

The very first thing Cullen did once they had entered the courtyard was to start figuring out what needed to be done, what supplies they needed, breaking people into teams to tackle the many, many jobs. They needed a list of rooms, debris and rubble needed to be removed, and restorations needed to begin.

Finally, Jasper could rest. He was purple and blue all over, the bruises taking a long time to fade. He didn’t like sitting around while everyone else was running around making decisions and being helpful, but he would just get in the way.

Josephine worked her magic, and before they knew it, supply caravans were being sent to Skyhold, and pilgrims were arriving in droves. So many nobles wanted an appointment with the Inquisition, now that there was someone to blame that wasn’t the Inquisition. Now that the Inquisition seemed to be the ones in control, the ones who could fix everything.

The council didn’t bother Jasper overly much, other than to check on his progress toward full health. Jasper was fine with that. His thoughts were more than enough company these days. He had been having recurring nightmares about his past, his present, and his future. He was terrified about what awaited him, now that Corypheus knew who he was. Jasper had wanted to leave the Inquisition at the first possible chance. Now, doing that was a deathwish.

“Jasper, would you walk with me?” Cassandra asked one afternoon as he strolled around the gardens, almost entirely back to health. He was starting to gain his color back. She led him up the stairs into the upper courtyard, taking her time on the steps, shmoozing. “We have the walls and the numbers to put up a fight here, since Corypheus must know where we are by now. But this threat is far beyond the threat we had anticipated previously. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.”

Jasper gave her a confused look. “The Anchor? My bad habit of getting into shit that doesn’t have to do with me? My bad luck, my bad attitude? Take your pick.”

Cassandra didn’t laugh. “The Anchor has power, yes. But it’s not why you’re still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky, your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it, all of us.”

Jasper paused as they approached Leliana at the top of the stairs. She was holding a sword, but not wielding it as if she intended to execute him, which was a relief. She was holding it out to him. Cassandra turned to Jasper, looked him in the eye. “The Inquisition needs a leader. The one who has _already_ been leading it.”

Jasper looked down at the courtyard below. There were hundreds of pilgrims, soldiers, scouts staring back up. So many of them. Jasper swallowed. They were asking him something very stupid. He was the worst possible candidate for the job. He wasn’t inspiring, he was an asshole, his only skill was murder.

“Cassandra,” Jasper hissed, looking away from all the awe-struck faces. “Perhaps we could’ve gone over this in private first?”

“There would be no Inquisition without you,” she insisted, an intensity in her eyes that scared him.

“No,” he snapped quietly. “This is a really bad idea. I’m bad luck, I really shouldn’t be appointed to this - please, you must understand how bad this’ll look. I’m an elf, for pity’s sake. With a long, long list of criminal offenses that may or may not still have withstanding warrants. You’re biting off more than you can chew.”

“Jasper,” Cassandra said. “This is fate. Whether it is the Maker’s doing or not, you are here for a reason. The people look up to you - we _cannot_ appoint anyone except you. The people would not accept it. Nor should they. We need you.”

Jasper felt panicked. He was about to bolt. Leliana eyed him carefully as she held out the sword to him. “Please, Jasper,” she whispered, cold blue eyes intense. “The Inquisition will fall without you as leader, and with it all our hopes to defeat Corypheus.”

When she put it like that, Jasper was hard-put to refuse. A few months ago, he would have refused anyway. But that guilt thing...Maker, he was going to regret this. He grasped the sword by the hilt. Andraste’s balls, it was heavy as shit. “Okay.”

He turned and looked out over the crowd as Cassandra called out to them.

“Have our people been told?” she asked, voice carrying over the huge group before them.

Josephine stepped up from the crowd, a big smile on her face. “They have. And soon, the world.”

“Commander, will they follow?” Cassandra continued.

Cullen turned around to face the crowd, such an inspirational man, so good at rallying the troops and the people alike. “Inquisition, will you follow?!”

They pumped their fists in the air and shouted in agreement, in dedication, in determination.

“Will you fight? Will we triumph?”

Each phrase was punctuated with more hollers, more fist-pumping, more shield-banging and hooting. Jasper was rather in awe himself at how the commander rallied a crowd and really got them going. He seemed to know just what to say to get to them. Jasper wished he had that gift.

Cullen drew his sword and thrust it into the air toward Jasper. “Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor_!”

The new title nearly threw Jasper off balance. Cassandra prodded him. He lifted the sword high into the air, heavy as it was, grinning at the crowd below despite his reservations. “Let’s make Corypheus eat shit!” he hollered out over the crowd. Cassandra rubbed a hand over her face with a disgusted sound, but there was amusement behind it.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Leliana said quietly. “Inquisitor.”

***

The first chance Jasper had, he ran and hid. He ducked into the library, which was fairly bare, though every day new books arrived, gifts from all those trying to ally themselves with the Inquisition. Few people had cared about them before Corypheus. Now, everyone was racing to please them and show the world how much they could give to the Inquisition.

At least no one would think to look for him here. Not once had anyone ever seen him touch a book. Leliana was the only one he’d told, and she kept her promise of keeping his illiteracy quiet. She had had to inform Cassandra, Josephine, and Cullen, for necessity’s sake. But other than that, no one knew. As they were the only ones who would seek him out, though, he was relatively safe in the library. As long as Leliana didn’t look down from the rookery above.

Jasper was hiding in an alcove with a window. He stared out at the mountains below, the shades of gray and purple and blue, such sharp planes. The late afternoon sun bathed it all orange, and soon the sun would set and everything would be shadow. Evening came early in the mountains. Some of the far peaks were capped in snow. If Jasper squinted, he could delude himself into thinking he saw Haven. That was impossible, of course. It was too far.

“Well, well, what _do_ we have here?” a voice asked with an air of mocking. Jasper looked over his shoulder and saw Dorian rising from a plush chair in the corner, holding a tome in hand. He closed it as he made eye contact with Jasper, a slight smirk on his lips, approaching the elf.

Jasper gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’m hiding. Don’t tell anyone.”

“And why would our illustrious new leader be hiding?” Dorian asked, folding his arms and propping one arm up to tap his chin. “Is he displeased with his new status?”

Jasper glowered at him. “Fuck off, ‘Vint. Being in a position of power and authority doesn’t come naturally to everyone.”

A look of hurt flashed over Dorian’s face, but it was gone so quickly Jasper couldn’t be sure he’d really seen it. It was probably just evil ‘Vint thoughts. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this? Being thrust up on a pedestal, worshipped by pilgrims, everyone burdening you with their hopes? What sort of madman wouldn’t want this?”

Jasper gave a dry chuckle. “You think you’re _so_ witty, don’t you?”

“On occasion.”

Jasper sighed, looking back out the window at the huge world before them. Out there, throughout Ferelden and Orlais, were numerous rifts that needed closing. Reports came in every hour on them, as well as different emergencies and catastrophes that needed the Inquisition. It seemed everyone needed the Inquisition these days.

“It’s just...a lot,” Jasper said after a while, when he wondered if Dorian was even still there. “I’m no good at leading, never have been. I can’t even give a good motivational speech, not like Cullen or Cassandra can. I’m bad with people. And I can’t - I can’t even keep track of my own shit, much less the shit of everyone in the fucking country.”

Dorian was still there, apparently, and had drawn even closer. Jasper could feel his presence, close and warm. “Your council is there to support you. Do you really think Leliana would make a good Inquisitor, as a single leader? Or Josephine? Or Cullen? Cassandra is the closest we’d get to a decent leader, but she would never.”

Jasper deflated somewhat. “So, what? All together, we make a good leader? If you take the best traits from us all?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jasper,” Dorian murmured. Jasper shivered. He didn’t want to admit he liked the way his name sounded on Dorian’s tongue. “No one else was willing to face down an ancient-magister-darkspawn thing and his dragon and drop a mountain on themselves, just to save a few hundred country bumpkins.”

Jasper looked up at Dorian. “You’re giving me too much credit, Dorian. That was just me being reckless and drunk. My, uh, previous reckless plans for that evening didn’t pan out, if you remember.” He gave Dorian a meaningful look.

Dorian raised a single eyebrow, impassive. “Oh, you mean me? I think the dragon may have been the safer bet, honestly.”

Jasper huffed a laugh and grinned. “Oh really? You’re telling me your bite’s worse than a dragon’s? You got anything to back that up?”

Dorian’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to darken slightly. Jasper maintained eye contact, tilting his chin up slightly, challenging him. The sun coming through the window painted Dorian’s dark, olive skin nearly golden, bringing out the rich umber in his perfectly coiffed hair.

“That depends on how _bad_ the Inquisitor really wants to be,” Dorian murmured.

Jasper smirked crookedly. “Now that’s a line I’d expect from a ten-copper Antivan whore, not a prissy noble from Tevinter. _Not_ that I’m complaining, of course. I rather like whores.”

“Are you suggesting we pick up where we left off, Inquisitor?” Dorian said, voice dropping. “Tsk, tsk, what _will_ the people say? The Herald of Andraste, dallying with the _evil_ Tevinter?”

Jasper straightened suddenly, standing very close to Dorian, breathing in his scent. Sandalwood and lemon. Dorian did not back down. “I don’t plan on letting the whole place know who I’m fucking. Most people have stopped trying to keep track, anyway. Except our esteemed spymaster, of course, but that’s her job.”

“Of course,” Dorian agreed, breath fanning ove Jasper’s face. Jasper watched Dorian’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “Do you have plans right now?”

“Other than hiding in a window seat?” Jasper asked with a chuckle. “No, I think I can...squeeze you in. Leave about five minutes after me, meet me in the basement.”

Before Dorian could respond, Jasper took off down the steps, a warm sensation in his belly already, heart racing. He hated to admit that Dorian was just his type. Almost the male version of Laila, except for the personality. Well, they were alike as much as coloring went. But Laila and Jasper had had simply a physical relationship, and he intended to continue that trend with Dorian, and probably with any other sexual partners henceforth. After Augustus, Jasper had no plans to ever get close to someone again.

The foundation of Skyhold had been shockingly intact, so the basements were safe and cleared of debris. There was an ancient library in one - _boo_ \- and a cellar that Josephine was slowly filling with all the gifts sent to them that were more fun-oriented. Josephine had sought Jasper out to directly tell him that he was not to touch any of the wine, the beer, or any other alcohol that was not for sale at the Herald’s Rest, the new tavern in Skyhold. She set up a tab for him there, even, so long as he left the expensive stuff alone.

Five minutes was an awful long time for Jasper. He went from pleasantly excited and confident to restless, doubtful that Dorian was coming when five minutes turned to ten. Jasper was about ready to kick himself when Dorian peeked in through the door, a little dusty.

“Ah - sorry, I got distracted by the _other_ library down here,” he said sheepishly, closing the door behind him. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Inqui-”

Jasper cut Dorian off by shoving him backwards into the wall, pressing their bodies and lips together with some force. His arms were braced against the stone on either side of Dorian. Dorian opened his mouth eagerly, and their teeth clashed together before their tongues met, sliding against each other. One of Dorian’s hands was carding through Jasper’s hair, pulling gently but firmly on the curls, making Jasper moan quietly. Dorian’s other hand was running up the inside of Jasper’s tunic, ghosting over his skin. His thumb ran over Jasper’s nipple, fingering the ring through it. Jasper moaned, louder, pressing closer to Dorian with a frenzy, hands flying to the stupid buckles all along his stupid robes, pulling them open.

Dorian pulled back slightly. “Liked that, did you?”

Jasper growled. “I didn’t ask you here to chat, Pavus. Now shut your mouth and turn around.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, looking down at Jasper with amusement and desire. He chuckled breathlessly. “I think not, dear Inquisitor.”

Jasper licked his lips and ran a hand through his curls. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’ve never bottomed.”

Dorian’s cheeks darkened more than they already were from their kisses. He looked off to the side. His hands dropped from Jasper, hovering in the air, a bit uncertain. “I have. I would rather not, though.”

Jasper blinked, but decided to leave that can of worms unopened. He started kissing Dorian’s exposed neck, nipping the delicate skin where his pulse was thrumming erratically. Jasper licked it, kissing down to his collarbone. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Dorian’s hand landed on the base of Jasper’s skull. “I’m sure you would be. But I would still rather not.”

Jasper hummed, then bit gently at Dorian’s neck where it met his shoulder, laving his tongue over it before biting again. Dorian groaned, hands falling to Jasper’s shoulders. He pushed Jasper backward a little and flipped them around, slamming Jasper against the stone wall. Jasper yelped a little in surprise, then grinned up at Dorian - as much as he could with the side of his face pressed against the rough stones by Dorian’s large hand.

“Maker, Dorian, you better fucking deliver,” Jasper moaned. “Like, tear my fucking ass apart, _papi_.”

Dorian laughed into Jasper’s hair, hands dropping to Jasper’s hips. “Your wish is my command, Inquisitor.”

The title was one Jasper didn’t like, but when Dorian said it like _that_ , it drove blood and heat straight to his already hard cock. Jasper pressed his ass back into Dorian’s hips, and Dorian squeezed his hips in response. His breath was hot on Jasper’s ear. The man licked a line along the shell of Jasper’s pointed ears, and Jasper bucked backwards involuntarily. He hummed, then reached behind him to loosen the remaining buckles on Dorian’s elaborate outfit.

“I’m serious, Dorian, I want your dick inside me, like, ASAP,” Jasper moaned. “Get stretching.” Then he cursed. “I don’t - I mean, of course not - I don’t have any oil on me or anything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dorian panted as he dropped his trousers. “Magic is good for more than just necromancy and blood magic.”

Jasper bit his lip as Dorian’s hand slid over his hip to his crotch, quickly undoing the strings tying Jasper’s trousers shut. His hand was hot when he finally touched Jasper’s hard, throbbing cock. Jasper keened quietly at finally having this man’s touch on him. Dorian’s hand was calloused from years of wielding a staff, but gentle as he stroked Jasper, thumb flicking over the metal bar on the base of it with interest.

Jasper made a noise of impatience. “Dorian, if I wanted gentleness, I would’ve invited you to bed. Fucking _choke_ _me_ , bitch.”

The hand that Dorian wrapped around Jasper’s throat also pushed him harder into the wall, the stones scraping the delicate skin of his face. Jasper didn’t mind, the pain just serving to sharpen the pleasure. Jasper gasped in pain, eyebrows knitting together, as Dorian inserted an oiled finger into his tight entrance. He breathed out on a choked moan, head drooping back slightly. He yelped when Dorian knotted his fingers in Jasper’s curls and pulled harshly, bringing his head further back so they could kiss, tongue swirling around each other in a messy, sloppy kiss that had Jasper’s mind rolling.

“Fuck me, Pavus, fuck me _hard_ ,” Jasper moaned, thrusting upward into Dorian’s hand. “Fuck me ‘til I see stars. Bite me and make me your fucking bitch, Pavus.”

“Maker’s breath, Jasper,” Dorian breathed as he inserted another finger, making Jasper whimper. He kissed Jasper’s neck, nipping at the pulse point in a way that had Jasper writhing. He scissored his fingers, and Jasper hummed. “You’re so good at that, that dirty talk. Absolutely filthy.”

Jasper giggled. “I grew up in a brothel, Pavus. You learn a thing or two.”

A third finger. Jasper pressed back on it eagerly, acclimating quickly. Like he said, years of practice. Dorian bit Jasper’s shoulder, softly, teeth just leaving imprints. Jasper wanted Dorian to take a fucking bite out of him, for Maker’s sake. Something. Anything.

“What was that like?” Dorian asked, curling his fingers. Jasper was gonna snap at him to stop asking questions, particularly about his childhood in a brothel - what did he _think_ it was like? - but he brushed against that sweet spot, and Jasper arched backwards with a loud cry of pleasure. Jasper took himself in hand, pumping himself as Dorian took his fingers out and placed both hands on Jasper’s hips. After a moment, he slid slowly into Jasper, inch by inch. Jasper bit his lip hard, hand stilling on his own cock as Dorian filled him up. Jasper’s breathing was erratic, all over the place. Dorian let out a long, ragged breath as he sheathed himself completely in Jasper.

“You good?” Dorian asked breathlessly, rubbing a circle into Jasper’s hip with his thumb.

Jasper nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Move, Dorian.”

Dorian obliged eagerly, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in, setting a hard, fast pace. Jasper tried to match his strokes on his own cock to Dorian’s pace. His head lolled backwards, mouth open, letting out every moan and whimper that Dorian caused. Dorian was panting in Jasper’s ear. He bit the lobe, tugging hard, and Jasper’s voice became higher pitched as he moaned. Dorian reached around, wrapping his hand around Jasper’s member, working it as he pegged Jasper harder and faster, quickly falling out of rhythm.

It was the spot right behind Jasper’s ear that did him in. When Dorian nuzzled it with his nose, Jasper sighed. When he kissed it, Jasper whimpered and his cock jerked in Dorian’s hand. When Dorian bit it, then ran his tongue over it, Jasper moaned so loudly they were sure the whole damn keep could hear them.

“Pavus, do that again, please,” Jasper begged, voice taking on a whiny, bratty quality that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to Dorian’s heavy cock. Dorian obliged, biting the spot behind Jasper’s long elf ears, and then running his tongue over it. Jasper’s eyes were fluttering, a strangled moan escaping his throat. Dorian did it again, this time syncing it with a hard thrust and a rough stroke of Jasper’s dick.

The effect was mesmerizing. Jasper’s eyes were squeezed shut, mouth wide open with a loud, desperate, breathy moan. His cock throbbed in Dorian’s hand and Jasper came so hard that he saw his elven ancestors in the corner weeping with shame. He braced himself on the stones, hot jets of white cum spurting all over Dorian’s hand and on the stone. Dorian lifted it to his mouth and licked it clean as Jasper watched through slitted eyes, breathing harshly, still floating on that high. Jasper opened his mouth and leaned further back to capture Dorian’s mouth in a hot and sloppy kiss that tasted of Jasper’s seed.

Dorian’s fingers dug into Jasper’s hips painfully. Jasper nipped Dorian’s lip, then turned back around, leaning forward and bracing his arms against the wall. Dorian pounded him relentlessly, the sound of their sweaty skin slapping together loud in the quiet cellar, so immoral and so hot. Jasper drove back to meet each of Dorian’s thrusts, until they became too erratic to predict. Dorian became sloppy, fingers leaving bruises as his grip tightened on Jasper’s hips. Dorian was kissing Jasper’s shoulder absentmindedly with an open mouth. When he came, he bit down _hard_ on Jasper’s shoulder, his groan muffled. He held Jasper in place as he came inside him, filling him to the brim with his hot seed until it dripped out of his entrance.

Dorian pulled out slowly, letting go of Jasper’s bruised hips. Jasper took another moment before he stood, pulling his trousers up gingerly, tying them up. They made eye contact for the first time since they started fucking, and Jasper grinned, eyes still half-lidded with satisfaction. He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair to tame it somewhat.

“Not bad, Pavus,” he teased, touching the prominent bite mark on his shoulder, visible to the side of his tunic collar. “Could work on the dirty talk. I can teach you, if you like.”

Dorian’s face was hot and red as he righted himself. “‘Not bad,’ he says. You look so thoroughly fucked, I don’t know how you’ll sit through your meetings this evening.”

Jasper groaned. “Don’t remind me. At least you’ve given me something pleasant to think about.”

Dorian smirked. He stopped himself from asking...what this meant. What Jasper wanted. Dorian was fine with just sex. But he wouldn’t lie; he found Jasper intriguing. Dorian didn’t even know where to begin with a...relationship, or whatever. He’d never been in one. And clearly Jasper had baggage. It was probably all better if they kept it to pleasure alone.

“This was just what the doctor ordered, I think,” Jasper murmured as he headed for the door. “Stress relief, you know? Drugs just don’t do the same job as fucking.”

Dorian smiled wryly. “Let me know if you’re in need of more _stress-relieving_ , Inquisitor.”

Jasper looked up at him, licking his lips. “Oh, I shall.”

***

Varric knew where Hawke was, after all. He told them over the War Table one morning that he and Hawke had fought Corypheus, before, and that they had killed him. That he was dead. And somehow, he was back.

Cassandra nearly popped a gasket. “You _fucking_ snake!” she shouted, lunging across the table at Varric. It took Jasper and Cullen together to hold her back, her face twisted with rage and pain, eyes wild with fury. “You lied! You knew where Hawke was this whole time - we _needed_ her, Varric! To lead the Inquisition!”

Ouch. That was a tad upsetting, that Jasper was second-best.

“Cassandra!” Leliana said with shock. “Control yourself!”

“Most Holy is dead because you wouldn’t tell us where she is!” Cassandra spat. “If Hawke were there - if Hawke were at the Conclave - “

“Then she’d be dead, too, probably!” Varric retorted angrily, standing well away from the angry Seeker. “You people have done enough to her, don’t you see that? She doesn’t want to be a hero anymore! She never wanted to be one in the first place.”

Cassandra growled. “We _needed_ her, Varric. You shouldn’t have lied to me - to us.”

Varric sighed. “It’s too late, Seeker. And she’s only coming because of Corypheus, don’t be confused. She doesn’t give a shit about you, or the mages and templars, or the Inquisition.”

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Jasper piped up, and Cullen helped him steer a struggling Cassandra through the door, bringing her to the forge. “I think this is a good place for you to cool down, Cass. Don’t you dare attack another member of the Inquisition ever again. _That_ is an order, as it is solely the Inquisitor’s pleasure to do that.”

Cassandra snarled at him. “How can you trust Varric? How can you side with him? He’s been lying to you this whole time, don’t you see that?”

“He was protecting his friend,” Jasper countered. “Who can blame Hawke, honestly, for not wanting to get involved in this shitstorm? If I had had it my way, I’d be in Rivain by now! Sipping mojitos on the cabana! Not living in a half-crumbled castle with a fucking psychotic magister-god-darkspawn thing after me.”

Cassandra took a deep breath. “I know this is not easy. No one wants the responsibility of being a hero. But Hawke would’ve -”

“Varric was right,” Cullen sighed. “If Olivia were here at the Conclave before the explosion, she probably would’ve died in the blast, too, Cassandra. Olivia was many things; invincible was not one of them, as much as we may like to believe otherwise.”

There was silence. Jasper eyed Cullen speculatively. First name basis with the legendary Champion of Kirkwall, huh?

“Perhaps…” Cassandra closed her eyes, looking like she was in pain. “Perhaps you are right. All I can trust is that this, too, is the Maker’s plan.”

If the Maker had anything to do with this, Jasper wanted to file a complaint.

***

Jasper was going for his recommended daily stroll about Skyhold when he found Cole sitting at the base of the stairs to the lower courtyard, flicking through some tarot cards and muttering under his breath. Jasper gave him a wide berth, not quite sure what to make of the strange boy. Since evacuating Haven, Jasper had barely seen the boy; he seemed to disappear as soon as Jasper laid eyes on him, and then Jasper sat there wondering if he’d actually really seen him. It was disorienting and irritating, to say the least.

A few feet away stood Cassandra, Solas, and Vivienne, arguing about Cole, apparently, though the boy seemed not to notice. They were debating if he was a mage or not, given his strange abilities to avoid notice and cause people to forget him. Solas, however, claimed that he must be a spirit - or, as Vivienne insisted, a demon.

“I really don’t think a demon would’ve helped save lives,” Jasper reminded them, eyes slitting as he jumped into their conversation. “I think we ought to give him a chance. Nobody ever thought an elven bandit would become Inquisitor, right? Maybe there’s more to Cole than meets the eye.”

He ignored the protests from Cassandra and Vivienne as he walked over to Cole, who was standing in the middle of the make-shift sick bay. They would need a proper building for that; it wouldn’t do to have the sick and wounded and dying out in the elements, in open view. Cole hovered over a young, pale man whose eyes were tightly shut.

“Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat,” Cole murmured, eyes fixed upwards on lazily drifting clouds. “Hot, white pain, everything burns. I can’t, I can’t. I’m going to...I’m dying...I’m...dead.”

As he spoke the last word, the young soldier went limp and let out a last, rattling breath. Jasper took a step back, away from Cole. “That’s...something else. Are you in his head?”

Cole shrugged. “Their thoughts are so loud, especially this close and with so many. But here I can help.” He walked over to another soldier. “Cracked, brown pain. Dry. Scraping. Thirsty. Here.” He leaned down and dribbled the contents of a canteen into their mouth. Cole stood back up, walking away from Jasper. “It’s alright. She won’t remember me.”

“You got in my thoughts right before I left the chantry in Haven, didn’t you?” Jasper asked, arms folded tightly around himself. This was disturbing. This was terrifying. A mind-reading spirit who could influence their memory perception as well. Eerie.

Cole nodded. “You were very loud then.”

“I was scared,” Jasper admitted, finding it rather easy to tell his feelings to Cole. Perhaps it was because there was no point in hiding them from a spirit. “I still am, honestly. The Inquisition has changed me, and I’m not sure I like it.”

“You’re helping people,” Cole said, his hat obscuring his features. “I want to stay. To help.”

Jasper shrugged. “Fine by me, kid. Just...I would appreciate it if you didn’t pick through people’s brains. Most folks don’t like that. It makes them feel vulnerable.”

Cole turned to look at him. “You don’t seem to mind. Do you feel vulnerable when I do it?”

Jasper shrugged. “I always feel vulnerable.”

It was weird, talking to a spirit about his feelings. Admitting things he didn’t even like to admit to himself. He felt oddly bare as he and Cole stood in silence for a few moments. Cole started narrating the thoughts of another wounded soldier.

“The healers have done all they can,” Cole said, glancing toward Jasper. “He’s dying. He wants to end it. Not draw out the suffering.”

Jasper frowned. “I...I don’t think that’s our call to make, Cole.”

“Please,” Cole asked. “He’s hurting so bad, I want to help…”

Jasper shook his head firmly. “No, Cole, not like this. He could recover. The healers could find a new treatment. We can’t make that call. We bring enough death into the world sending these people into battle, fighting the Venatori and the red templars. We don’t need more. Instead, we should try to ease his pain.”

Cole seemed to relax slightly. He looked over at Jasper, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. He didn’t say anything, and after a moment Jasper looked away, fiddling with a button on his jacket. He looked back and Cole was gone. But Jasper remembered their entire conversation, and he was glad of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I should write a normal, enjoyable sex scene.  
> Me to me: Jasper needs to say weird shit during sex because of who he is as a person.
> 
> I'm so sorry.
> 
> Also a kinda short-ish chapter, but you've got smut, so who cares.


	11. The Champion

Hawke arrived a week later. She was rather dashing, in her signature dark armor with that signature swipe of red across her nose and cheeks, her short hair all windswept in an artsy way. She was welcomed with little fanfare, as per her request to keep as low a profile as possible.

Although once she was in the keep, she screamed with excitement and threw her arms around Varric.

“BUDDY!” she shouted in greeting, lifting him bodily off the floor - no small feat, even if Varric was a dwarf - and swinging him around. When she replaced him, Varric was blushing from embarrassment, but he was grinning, too. “I’ve missed you, Var.”

“You know, I thought I missed you, too, but now that you’re here…” Varric teased.

“Oh, Varric, you wound me,” Olivia Hawke replied with faux sadness, hand over her heart. “I crossed the Waking Sea for you.”

“Olivia, meet Jasper,” Varric said, gesturing between them. “Jasper, meet Olivia.”

“How do you do?” Hawke asked, reaching to shake hands with Jasper. He extended his left hand and she grabbed it by the wrist, twisting it and pulling his glove off to take a look at the mark glowing in the center. Jasper was thrown off balance and yelped with indignance. “Ooh, shiny.”

“Oi, watch it, would ya?” Jasper huffed, pulling his hand back. “I’m delicate.”

“Oh, you’re _cute_ ,” she remarked, eyes raking up and down. “So easily flustered. Precious.”

Jasper was blushing. He was used to noblewomen treating him like a child, almost, doting on him and coddling him, when he was at the Rose Garden. This wasn’t new to him. But Hawke wasn’t a typical noblewoman, and he was no longer a prostitute. She knew he was just as capable of killing as she was. This was her way of sizing him up.

Jasper grinned. “Any more flirting and you’ll have to start paying, Champion, and I’m not cheap.”

Josephine made a disapproving noise. Hawke waggled her eyebrows.

“Is this how the Inquisition is funding itself?” Hawke asked with a chuckle. “No wonder you all are doing so well, considering the Chantry has threatened public denouncement to any noble who funds you. Who wouldn’t want to take a bite out of you?

“But I’m here to talk about Corypheus,” she said, sobering. “Let’s walk, Inquisitor.”

The two of them left the main hall, taking to the more secluded ramparts. They were overlooking the entirety of Skyhold, both courtyards: the stables, the forge, the Herald’s rest, the sick bay, the troops training and sparring. Hawke leaned her forearms against the stone, staring out at the mini-city before them.

“This view reminds me of my home in Kirkwall,” Hawke said softly, a bit sadly. Her tone was somber. “Had a balcony that overlooked the whole city. Loved it at first, really. Beautiful. But after a while, all I could see out there were all the people depending on me.”

“Better you than me,” Jasper said. “Unfortunately, you were MIA while they were figuring out who to make Inquisitor.”

Hawke snorted. “Not an accident. I was _not_ going to get involved with more mage/templar bullshit.”

“So, you fought Corypheus?” Jasper asked, returning to the subject at hand, and folded his arms to watch the people below run their errands. “Any advice?”

Hawke shot him a sidelong glance. “Fought and _killed_. The Grey Wardens were holding him. He was somehow using his connection to the darkspawn to influence them. Got into their heads. Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other. If the Wardens have disappeared...could be they’ve fallen under his control once more.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Jasper whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s just...really fucking peachy to contemplate. Whoopie fuckin’ doo.”

“We need to know more first,” Hawke sighed. “I have a good friend in the Wardens. Name of Indira. She was...investigating something _unrelated_ , for me. Last time we spoke, she was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing. Not a word.”

“Corypheus certainly qualifies as corruption in the ranks,” Jasper quipped. “Did your friend disappear with them?”

Hawke shook her head. “No, she told me she’d be hiding out in an old smugglers’ cave outside of Crestwood. Hope she’s still there.”

“Crestwood? That old backwater shithole?” Jasper grimaced. “Fuck. I just hope it’s not as bad as the Fallow Mire.”

Hawke grinned. “Well. I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we, sweets?”

***  
The Herald’s Rest was a lot livelier with Hawke around. That night, she bought a round of drinks for everyone, on her. That made her popular. All night long, adulations were poured upon her. Everyone wanted to buy her a drink. Everyone wanted to hear her crazy stories. Everyone wanted to bask in the presence of the Champion of Kirkwall.

Jasper wasn’t jealous. Not a bit. Not when Leliana smiled and kissed Hawke on both cheeks like she was greeting an old friend, not when Cullen and Hawke reminisced about old times - like how Cullen got that cut that bisected his upper lip. Her doing, apparently. She was rather proud of that, and Jasper couldn’t think of a single person who he’d punched who would’ve greeted him like an old friend. Infuriating.

“Oi, Inquisitor!” Hawke greeted with an enthusiastic wave as he entered the Herald’s rest that evening. She had a pint in hand, ale sloshing over the lip. “Just the man - er, elf - I was looking for! Varric here claims you could drink me under.”

“That’s actually _not_ what I said, Liv,” Varric protested, but she waved him off.

“My pride is at risk, Inquisitor,” Hawke declared, gesturing to Flissa for another pint. “We must take the gentleman’s path, and have a drinking contest!”

Jasper smirked. He’d had a plethora of practice at drinking contests in his days. One of the famed pastimes of criminals and whores alike. And he’d been both. “Alright, Hawke, I accept your challenge. What does the winner get, though? Or the loser?”

She eyed him with a mischievous smirk. “How d’you feel about streaking naked through the courtyard?”

Jasper’s grin widened ferociously. “Like I need to lose a bet as an excuse to streak through Skyhold.”

“Oh, expecting to lose, are you?” Hawke teased.

“Expecting to win, are you?” Jasper countered, taking the pint offered to him by Flissa. He sat across from Hawke, soldiers clapping his back as he took a long draught of the drink, matched by Hawke. “Don’t bet against a rogue, Hawke.”

Her grin was wide and dangerous. “Don’t bet against the Champion, Inquisitor.”

***  
In the end, it was rather a draw, much to the consternation of the many gamblers in the tavern that evening. Jasper and Hawke could barely keep their feet under them after a dozen pints each. Their challenges and teasing had progressively become less and less sensical, until they were barely even coherent.

Jasper was inordinately proud of calling Hawke the “Champion of Dick-Sucking.”

Hawke was inordinately proud of calling Jasper the “Herald of Andraste’s Tits.”

When neither of them were able to sit straight without assistance, Flissa refused to give them any more drink. “I’m not cleaning vomit of any heroes off the floor tonight, I’m sorry,” she said as sternly as she could, which was not terribly stern.

“Okay, Liv, let’s get you to bed before you pass out on the floor,” Varric said, helping Hawke to stand. She leaned heavily on him, a bit of spittle drooling out the corner of her mouth as she sang something that vaguely resembled a sea-shanty. “Atta’girl.”

The Iron Bull and Krem hauled Jasper to his feet, though Iron Bull was more than capable of doing it on his own. He grumbled something about having to carry Jasper through the frozen landscape of the Frostback wilderness. Krem looped Jasper’s arm around his shoulders and helped him stumble from the warmth of the tavern, into the significantly cooler air of the mountain-top courtyard.

“Easy does it, Inquisitor,” Krem said, arm around Jasper’s waist. Iron Bull plodded along behind them, laughing at some joke he’d made that Jasper had no hope of catching. Jasper blinked, and then they were walking up the steps into the keep proper, which was a feat of dexterity unlike any Jasper had ever faced before, and he blinked again and Krem was closing the door to his quarters behind him, helping Jasper up the second set of stairs.

Jasper felt dizzy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so shit-faced, and he was sure he wouldn’t remember it in the morning, either.

“Damn, Boss,” the Iron Bull murmured. “You’ve got a pretty sweet setup up here. And they’ve got us on bunkbeds in the barracks.”

“Mention to Josie-posie,” Jasper muttered. “I will.”

Bull chuckled. Krem was lowering Jasper to his bed, rather apprehensive that Jasper might puke on him at any moment. “Easy, now.”

“Krem, anybody ever tell you…” Jasper began, then blinked a moment as he was suddenly horizontal, and was rather overwhelmed by that shift. “You’re hot.”

Krem spluttered, and Iron Bull laughed. “So, you over your hatred of ‘Vints, yet, Boss?”

Jasper shook his head, which sent the room into a nonstop whirl. He closed his eyes. “No. But they have their uses. Krem’s not bad. Not bad at all.”

Then Jasper leaned over the side of the bed and hurled all over the polished stone floor, the splatter echoing loudly in his ears. Maker, vomiting while drunk was always such a weird feeling. The Iron Bull tutted.

“I’m not cleaning that up, Chief,” Krem told him, hands raised in refusal.

Jasper collapsed back onto the bed. “So I guess you’re not gonna stay the night, huh, Krem?”

The Iron Bull was practically doubled over with laughter. “I’ll have someone clean it up, Jas,” he promised. “No more drinking games with the Champion, though.”

Krem sighed and pulled Jasper’s boots off, tossing them to the side. “No, Inquisitor, though I hate to disappoint.”

Jasper rolled over and blinked. He thought he responded, but he couldn’t be sure, because now everything was black and quiet.

***

Jasper woke with a splitting headache, mouth like moldy sandpaper. He rolled over on his bed and winced at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, straight into his eyes, exacerbating his migraine. He really needed to get curtains on those damned windows.

He rolled out of bed and pulled his rumpled clothes off. He must smell like a fucking distillery. He grabbed an urn of water and a rag off the side table and set to scrubbing himself, just to get the film of grossness off his body. He sighed. He hated drinking, he really did. Especially when he drank himself sick and didn’t even get a good fuck out of it.

Jasper slid into clean clothes and tried to comb his hair with his fingers into some semblance of presentableness. He missed his long hair, he wouldn’t lie. He really missed it. He didn’t like to regret things, but he regretted letting Josephine convince him to cut it. Ah, well, hair grew back, didn’t it? He ran a thumb over the shaved hair around the sides and back of his head. He liked the shaved bits, though. Maybe he’d shave half of it in the future, keep the rest long?

Maker, the circles beneath his eyes...not rad. He looked like a drunk, he really did.

He left his chambers behind and was on his way to get breakfast from the kitchens, trying not to wince at the hustle and bustle of the keep, when a grating voice yelled at him from across the courtyard.

“Oi! Inquisitor!” He turned around to see Hawke, who looked as shitty as he felt. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. “I want a rematch.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Promised the Iron Bull I wouldn’t. Take it up with him.”

She followed him. “Fine, not a drinking contest, then. Swill’s not that good anyway.”

“So what do you propose, then, my dear?” he asked, ducking through a low door into the basement kitchen. Cook scowled at his obviously bedraggled appearance, but stacked a plate high for him.

“Start showing up for meals, why don’t you?” Cook chastised good-naturedly.

Jasper gave her a cheeky grin. “And miss seeing your lovely face, Cook? Never.” He took the plate gratefully and gave Cook a kiss on the cheek, then headed back out with Hawke on his heels.

“What about...a friendly sparring match?” she suggested thoughtfully, eyeing the open courtyard. “Would be fun.”

“A mage has nothing on a rogue,” Jasper insisted with a snort. “You wouldn’t see me long enough to land a hit.”

“I’ve got more than just magic at my disposable, Inquisitor,” Hawke said with a smirk. “Got a few tricks up my sleeves.”

“Loser still streaks?” Jasper asked, eyeing Hawke calculatively. She was about his height, lighter than him, but not by much. He knew she was trained in magic by her apostate father. Who knew what else she had been taught?

“Yeah, something of the sort,” she agreed evasively. “You in?”

He groaned. “Now?”

“Being hungover is part of the fun,” she insisted.

Jasper grinned. “Perfect.”

***  
Twenty minutes later, a crowd was gathered around them in the courtyard, a loose circle of spectators placing bets on the Champion and the Herald as they danced around each other. Jasper wielded two dulled practice daggers, and Hawke spun a long glaive staff in her gloved hands, the blade at the end glinting wickedly.

Back and forth they went, trading blows, occasionally landing a hit or two. Sweat was dripping down Jasper’s bare chest, running along the ridges of the scars criss-crossing his torso. Hawke swiped her damp hair back with a hand as they circled each other, the stripe of red across her nose smudged.

She was getting sloppy. Mages were so damned full of themselves, not used to close-quarters combat, no matter how much she boasted. It took only a few well-placed jabs to twist and force the staff out of her hand, spinning away to the edge of the crowd. Cries went up from the onlookers. Jasper wondered how many of them had bet against him.

Hawke looked at her lost staff, then back to Jasper, determination in her icy blue eyes. He grinned at her cockily, spinning his blades. “Given up, Hawke?”

With a snarl, she threw herself forward, catching Jasper by surprise and catching him around the middle. She tackled him down to the ground with her entire body, and he grunted as he hit the ground with quite a bit of force, enough to knock his two daggers from his hands. Hawke pinned his wrists down, and now there was a wide, self-satisfied grin on her face, like she was a cat toying with a canary.

“What was that, Inquisitor?” she panted, hot breath fanning over his face.

Jasper looped his legs around her hips and unseated her, twisting them around so he was pressing her to the ground, but she was writhing and managed to wriggle her arms free, shoving him to the side. She reached out and grabbed one of the dull daggers, stabbing it into the soft ground to the left of Jasper’s head. He looked at it, so close his eyes couldn’t bring it into focus. Then she grabbed the other and slammed it into the ground on the right side of his head. She was sitting on his hips, his wrists in her hands.

“Do you accept defeat yet, Inquisitor?” she asked saccharinely.

He lurched forward and slammed his forehead into hers, sending her sprawling, clutching her head in pain. Jasper was in a similar position, rubbing the throbbing center of his forehead and groaning.

“I don’t fucking lose,” he grumbled as he struggled to his feet. “Obviously, neither do you.”

The crowd was murmuring as Hawke hoisted herself to her feet and approached Jasper, throwing an arm around his shoulder. She nuzzled his ear with her nose as she leaned close. “So. Another draw. How about…”

“Not another bout,” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’ve got a splitting headache to begin with, love. I don’t need another stupid challenge.”

Hawke giggled. “I was thinking...tie-breaker in your quarters?”

Jasper eyed her out of the corner of his eyes, a smile spreading across his lips. “Oh, I think I’d be amenable to that.”

Sera was scowling at the two of them. “So...who won?”

***  
Two days later they were ready to head to Crestwood and find this Warden Indira. Blackwall had taken ill the morning of, which was a bit of a bummer, since Jasper was hoping he’d be able to shed some light on this whole situation once he met up with another Warden. Two heads were better than one, after all. That changed Jasper’s roster a bit.

Hawke was coming, of course. Cassandra was a must, as she read and responded to all of Jasper’s correspondence, and as much as they were a little wary around each other since the whole Varric lying thing, he trusted her with his life. And Solas was going with them, since he was the friggin’ Fade expert, and they got reports of some freaky-nasty rifts in the area. And since Varric could not accompany them due to the proximity to the Seeker, and Sera bugged the shit out of _everyone_ , even Jasper, Cole came with them. His first mission.

Jasper was loading his saddle bags with plenty of extra potions, weed, his favorite pipe, a bit of embroidery for his downtime. It was a hobby Mother Giselle had taken to teaching him. Varric laughed himself to tears the first time he saw Jasper hunched over, embroidering a square of fabric held in a wooden circle. But Jasper found it soothing.

“Off to save the world once more, eh?” Dorian quipped, approaching Jasper in the stables. Jasper whirled around, surprised to be interrupted this early in the morning.

Jasper shrugged. “As usual, they send the most incompetent folks to do it. Well, Olivia’s rather competent, actually. So is Cassandra...when she’s not being a massive bitch. Don’t know why they bother with me.”

Dorianed leaned against a post, watching Jasper fastening the bags to the saddle. “Maybe it’s your way with words and your incredible self-confidence.”

Jasper snorted. “You’ve found me out, haven’t you? What’re you doing up so early, anyway, Pavus? Don’t you privileged city folks like to sleep in late? Or are you here for some stress relief?”

Dorian’s cheeks were tinged the slightest pink. Rather cute, really. Jasper delighted in flustering Dorian. As much as the man flirted and acted like a sex-god, he was really rather prudish sometimes. Never bottomed, never went down on another man, never used toys. All the little details Jasper had found out during their...interludes. It appeared that simply finding other men attractive and sleeping with them was enough to mark him as a deviant in Tevinter, especially as he was altus. Dorian’s opportunities simply to fuck other men had been few and far between. Not that he didn’t know what he was doing or wasn’t good at it. He was phenomenal. But Jasper’s liberal views on sex seemed to shock even this ‘Vint.

Jasper sauntered over to him. “We’ll have to make it quick, the others are supposed to be here soon.”

Jasper dropped down to his knees in one fluid motion, pushing his hair out of his face as he looked up at Dorian above him. The man’s cheeks were red now, but he didn’t protest as Jasper unbuckled his breeches and pulled them down to his ankles. Dorian had such nice legs. Jasper ran his hands up the bare skin of his legs, marveling, really, at how someone so fucking _hot_ existed, was in Jasper’s life, _and_ found him attractive enough to let him go down on him.

Jasper took Dorian’s half-hard cock in his hand, parting his lips slightly but not putting his mouth on it yet. “Do you want this?” Jasper asked, rubbing the head over his lower lip.

Dorian let out a shuddering breath, a hand landing on the back of Jasper’s neck, thumb stroking the smooth shave at the base of his skull. “Maker’s breath, Inquisitor, do you have any idea how sinful you look from this angle? How could I say no to a face like that?”

Jasper grinned, pink creeping on his cheeks. “Fuck my face, Pavus.”

Dorian groaned and carded his strong, bejeweled fingers through Jasper’s curls, tugging harshly. Jasper moaned and opened his mouth, running his tongue along the underside of Dorian’s dick, from tip to base and back again. Dorian shuddered as Jasper took his head in his mouth, swirling his tongue slowly around it. He took more of Dorian in his mouth as Dorian pulled his face closer, fingernails scraping Jasper’s scalp.

Jasper took him deeper, hollowing his cheeks and sucking every inch or so, until Dorian’s cock was brushing the back of his throat. Jasper gagged a little, but kept going. He fondled Dorian’s balls gently with the hand that wasn’t on Dorian’s hip, earning a strangled moan from the mage and an involuntary thrust that sent Jasper choking. He kept stroking his balls, and Dorian thrust again, making Jasper whimper, eyes watering.

“Kaffas, Inquisitor,” Dorian gasped. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Aw, Dorian,” Jasper said, popping Dorian’s dick out of his mouth with a slurping sound. “You know me better than that. You know how I feel about pain. If it’s not rough, is it even sex?”

Dorian shook his head with a breathless chuckle. “Hasn’t anyone ever...made love to you, Jasper?”

Jasper blinked, pretending to look thoughtful, finger on his chin. “Hmm...I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that, Pavus, because that wanders dangerously close into the ‘feelings’ category, which is none of your fucking business, right?”

Dorian clicked his mouth shut. “My mistake, Inquisitor. Carry on.”

Jasper rolled his eyes and got back to work, alternating between sucking and licking. Dorian tried to control himself, but Jasper didn’t like that. He grabbed Dorian by the balls, eliciting a shocked yelp from him, and looked up through his eyelashes at Dorian as he slid his dick out of his mouth with a pop, still playing with his balls.

“I believe I told you to fuck my face, Pavus, didn’t I?” Jasper said evenly, rolling Dorian’s balls in his hand. Dorian’s cock twitched. “If it’s not rough then it isn’t fun.”

Dorian sighed and grabbed Jasper by the hair, and Jasper opened his mouth wide for Dorian to plunge his dick inside. He gagged as Dorian set his pace, Jasper just holding on to his hip, eyes half-shut with bliss as Dorian fucked him hard and fast. Jasper massaged his balls with his free hand, fingers occasionally running over his puckered entrance. Dorian groaned deeply, ramming further, and Jasper’s vision went blurry with tears as he choked.

“Jasper…” he moaned, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it stung. “I’m...close, gonna…”

Hearing Dorian near-speechless with pleasure thrilled Jasper. Tears rolled down his face as Dorian came, hard, filling Jasper’s mouth with his hot, salty seed. Jasper pulled back slightly, swallowing thickly around Dorian’s cock. He slipped Dorian’s dick out of his mouth and set to lapping up every last drop of come he could get, wiping at the tears on his face with the heel of his palm.

Dorian straightened himself up, buckling his trousers, then pulled Jasper up by the collar, shoving him against the wall as he kissed him with a sloppy, slow kiss. Jasper was a bit surprised, but didn’t complain; if Dorian wanted to taste himself on Jasper’s tongue, Jasper would not be the one to deprive him of that. He let his eyes flutter shut and buried his fingers in Dorian’s perfectly soft curls.

“Ahem,” a soft voice interrupted, and Jasper and Dorian pulled apart rather violently, Jasper hitting his head on the wall behind him and Dorian nearly tripping over his own feet. Their interruptor was Hawke, grinning rather wickedly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. The others are on their way.”

Jasper was blushing despite himself, ignoring his rather obvious hard-on. He should’ve just let Dorian peg him, that would’ve taken care of both of them. He ran a hand through his hair and moved to swing himself into the saddle, a motion that was slowly becoming easier with practice. From this vantage point, he was taller than Dorian.

“Safe travels, Inquisitor,” Dorian said with a little wave, taking a few steps away as the others entered the stable, heading to their steeds. “And do be careful, would you?”

Jasper grinned. “I told you that if it’s not rough it’s no fun. That is my life motto, not just for my sexlife.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise as she mounted her horse. “We should leave as soon as possible, Jasper. Is Dorian joining us last minute?”

“Ah - no,” Jasper said quickly, shooting a quelling look at the mage. “He was just coming to bid us _all_ farewell.”

Dorian smiled blandly and offered a last wave before leaving rather stiffly. Jasper quirked an eyebrow. Maker, the man could be so touchy. But did he _want_ Jasper broadcasting their...situation to all of Skyhold? Did he want everyone to know the Inquisitor was going down on him in the stable? He didn’t seem the type to bask in that sort of attention. Of course, Jasper had never cared if people knew or not; it was none of their business. But he knew that Dorian rather enjoyed his privacy. And Jasper would rather not field questions about his sexlife for the entire trip to Crestwood.

Maybe it was because of Hawke? The two of them hadn’t hid their obvious physical attraction to each other. He was fairly certain the entire Inquisition knew he and the Champion had fucked, though it was entirely carnal. No emotions. Just like there were no emotions between him and Dorian. Just fucking. Stress relief.

He ignored intrusive thoughts about Dorian the entire trek to Crestwood. Stupid ‘Vints, they just had a way of getting under your skin. However, once they were in Crestwood, all preoccupation regarding sexual interludes went out the window. There was a huge rift. Under the lake. The lake that had not existed ten years ago before the Blight. The lake that was the result of the darkspawn destroying the dams and flooding the whole lower village. Which meant there were bodies, and lots of ‘em, plenty for the demons to possess.

“Fucking wonderful,” Jasper muttered as Scout Harding got them all up to speed on the situation in Crestwood. And, it was raining. Heavily. A side-effect of the rift in the lake, apparently, as it had been perfectly lovely weather until the Breach in Haven had first been opened. They had been in Crestwood no longer than an hour and they were already soaked through.

“Please be safe, Inquisitor,” Scout Harding insisted.

Jasper grinned half-heartedly. “Careful is my middle name.”

Hawke was looking at a map from the relative safety of one of the tents, mumbling to herself as she tried to figure out where exactly her Warden friend was. Jasper watched Hawke for a few moments, leaning against one of the tent poles. “So. What’s it like being the Champion?”

“Boring, now,” she muttered as she turned the map sideways. “All my friends have left Kirkwall. Even Varric, of course. Not of his will. Honestly, that woman...I don’t care if she has tea with the Maker every Monday afternoon at three, how dare she _kidnap_ him?”

“Ah, Cassandra,” Jasper said, nodding. “You know they originally arrested me? I think it’s just her way of introducing herself. Kinda fucked up.”

“Kinda,” Hawke agreed. “So. What’s it like being the Inquisitor?”

Jasper shrugged. “Oh, you know. Just another day being the most hated and beloved man in all of Thedas, simultaneously. The nobles don’t know if they want to marry me or slap me in chains for being a heretic, once this is all over. It’s amusing.”

“Oh, love that bit, how they can never decide if they love you or hate you,” Hawke agreed. “Every action under scrutiny. What do they think of you and Pavus?”

Jasper cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing. We keep things under wraps.”

Hawke scoffed, then chuckled. “Oh, c’mon, Inquisitor. I heard rumors of the two of you the moment I stepped foot in Skyhold. You’re not as subtle as you think. Still, it’s nice to have someone in such a mess. So how long have you two been together?”

Jasper blushed. “We’re not - It’s not - He and I - “ He stammered as Hawke laughed. “We are just...fuck-buddies. We have no relationship. I...consider Dorian a friend, I suppose. Which is a lot to admit, considering he’s a ‘Vint. But he’s saved my life and he fights valiantly and he seems loyal and he’s smart and - “ Jasper cut himself off as Hawke wiggled her eyebrows at him, grinning a shit-eating smile.

“Oh, yes, no relationship to speak of,” she said softly.

“Fuck _off_ ,” Jasper complained. “He could be the King of Ferelden and I still would not date him. He could have the nicest cock the world has ever seen, and I would not date him. He could literally vibrate - “

“I understand the point you are trying to make,” Hawke interrupted pointedly, still grinning. “Why not? He’s hot. And all the other great things you mentioned about him. Is he betrothed?”

“Well...technically,” he said. “I think. He said they hate each other, though. I...don’t know. I mean, he said he would see things through here, but he’ll probably return to Tevinter after all this, I would assume. And then he’ll get married and have kids and settle down. Kinda his job, being altus. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

“So do you,” Hawke said softly, perusing the map once more. “Why don’t you try something like that?”

“This is not a therapy session,” Jasper sighed. “Why does everyone try to get me to talk about my feelings? I mean, I am my favorite topic, so I _will_ do it, but it’s stupid.”

“So why won’t you date him?” Hawke said.

“It’s anyone, not him specifically,” Jasper replied with a shrug. “I am not into relationships.”

“So you’re still single, is what you’re saying?” Hawke replied with another wiggle of her eyebrows. As if they hadn’t fucked a couple of days ago to settle a bet. Though she had admitted she had a girlfriend, they were in an open relationship, she claimed.

“Very.”

The silence between them swelled. “Well, depending on what news we hear from my friend, I may have an extra spot in my bedroll tonight, Inquisitor.”

Jasper grinned. “All this talk about emotions just to find out if I’ll have more meaningless sex with you?” He tutted. “How naughty.”

Once Hawke had their heading, they set out on foot - the horses were so ill-tempered in this weather, and with the undead corpses...it was easier on foot, actually. The village proper was the saddest thing Jasper had ever seen, and he’d lived in the slums and alienages of Wycome and Denerim. The people were hungry and scared and looked like corpses themselves. With all the rifts, they were practically cut off from any trade routes, and it showed. The mayor had started rationing supplies, and the villagers were terrified.

“This is…” Hawke trailed off, fire in her electric blue eyes.

“Not great,” Jasper finished for her. “Not great at fucking all.”

Through the desolate, depressing village was a path leading up into the hills. They encountered a few Grey Wardens, who were also looking for Hawke’s friend - this Indira. Jasper and Hawke did a wonderful job of playing dumb.

“Wardens?” Hawke said with concern. “In _these_ parts?”

“Is another Blight coming?” Jasper asked with concern. “Ought we commence a mass exodus to Tevinter?”

“Begin the evacuation post-haste!” Hawke cried.

The Wardens shushed them. “No Blight is happening. At least not yet. We just need Indira Brosca - on orders from Warden-Commander Clarel. None of your business.”

Jasper pressed his lips together. “Haven’t seen any Wardens round here, not that I can remember. You all do rather stick out, with the blue armor, though.”

The two Wardens shared a look. “We should be moving on.”

“Toodaloo,” Jasper called after them with a wiggle of his fingers. “Safe travels.”

Once the Wardens were well out of site, Jasper glanced over at Hawke. “Shit. How close were they?”

Hawke let out a breath. “Dangerously so. Indira’s hideout is less than half a mile from here. Keep an eye peeled. It won’t be easy to spot.”

They spent the next hour hiking through the hilly outskirts of the village, wading through mud and overgrown grass. The cave was up a ridge, hidden from view of the road by an outcropping of rocks and trees. When they finally reached it, Jasper was sweating, legs rather atremble from the exertion of climbing. Despite the constant traipsing throughout the wilderness, he still managed to exercise muscles he’d never used.

“This fucking sucks,” Jasper complained as they walked into the damp, dripping cave. Glowing mushrooms grew out of every crevice. “It smells gross. My legs hurt. I hate this fucking place. Maker, I just want - “

Jasper didn’t get to finish the thought. A sword was pressed to his throat, edge of the blade drawing a bead of blood from his neck as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. He stopped abruptly, mouth dry. His eyes cut to the side and followed the sword to the arm holding it, and down to its owner. A dwarven woman, tattoos covering her face in blocky designs.

“Identify yourselves, or your friend is dead,” she demanded, walking forward and forcing Jasper against the wall of the cave.

“Indira, it’s just us,” Hawke said with a roll of her eyes. “Indira, Inquisitor Jasper Lavellan. Inquisitor, Warden Indira Brosca.”

The sword was withdrawn. The dwarven woman, Warden Indira, snorted and crossed her arms after sheathing her sword. “Can’t be too damn careful these days, Olivia. I saw Wardens crawling around Crestwood all this past week. Haven’t been able to hunt. Been living off rats. Not great.”

“Not great,” Jasper agreed.

“Not great,” Hawke echoed, grinning. “I know you’ve been on the run, but do you have any sort of insight into what’s going on with the Wardens and Corypheus?”

Indira breathed out a long-suffering sigh, shaking her long, straight amber hair out of her face. “As you may know, an archdemon can survive fatal wounds that would kill any other creature, even a proper dragon. That’s why the Grey Wardens were created: We possess an ability to prevent them from surviving mortal blows. I’m afraid Corypheus may share the archdemon’s ability. After Hawke and Varric’s run in with him a few years ago, I started digging. I wasn’t able to discover any definitive proof, however. And then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.”

“Maker, why didn’t you tell me?” Hawke gasped.

“It was a Grey Warden matter,” Indira spat bitterly, seeming more angry at herself and her comrades than at Hawke. “I was bound to secrecy. You know how we are. I’ve already shared way too much.”

Jasper shared a look with Cassandra. She seemed just as confused and concerned as he. “Is anyone going to explain what the Calling is?” he asked.

Indira turned to face Jasper, her flinty gray eyes like chips of iron. Calculating. Unnerving. “The Calling tells a Warden when the Blight will take him. All Wardens consume a little darkspawn blood in the Joining. It’s deadly to most people. Those who survive it become Grey Wardens. We develop the ability to detect darkspawn before other, untainted people can. We can even understand them, sometimes. We hear the archdemon when it talks to the horde. It’s as unpleasant as it sounds, truly. And eventually it will kill us. Most don’t live longer than, say, twenty years or so after the Joining, if they aren’t killed in battle. The Calling starts with dreams. Then whispers in one’s mind. The Warden says his farewells and goes to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat, taking out as many darkspawn as he can before he falls.”

Jasper blinked. He’d never known much about the Grey Wardens other than they were incredibly secretive, and were the only beings able to stop a blight. He hadn’t really cared much. He hadn’t thought about what they sacrificed. “Maker’s tits, and that’s what all the Wardens in Orlais are experiencing right now? They all think they’re gonna die? At once?”

Indira’s face hardened. “Yes. And it’s likely due to Corypheus. If he has a connection to the Blight like we suspect, it’s possible he could influence the Calling. Why? Because it is the Warden’s greatest fear. If all Wardens fall now, who will stand against the next Blight?”

“So he’s bluffing them,” Hawke realized. “And they’re falling for it. But for what purpose? What does he get out of this? No one knowing how to kill him?”

“We are the only ones who can slay archdemons,” Indira continued, pacing, her long hair swishing with her steps. “Without us, the next Blight will consume the world. Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a ritual that would prevent future Blights before we all perished. A blood magic ritual.” The words were spoken with disgust.

Hawke cursed loudly. “Please, Indira, tell me you are kidding.”

Indira grimaced. “I wish I could. When I protested her supposed solution, my own comrades turned on me. However, I managed to glean some info before I had to run. The Grey Wardens are gathering in the Western Approach. A shithole of a place. They meet at an ancient Tevinter ruin. Hawke, I would like for you to accompany me to scout it out, let the Inquisition know what we’re getting ourselves into first.”

Hawke nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll leave at first light. Are you going to stay here, or join us in camp?”

Indira shook her head. “It’s safer if I stay here. Thank you, though. Inquisitor, it was a pleasure meeting you. I wish it could’ve been in better circumstances.”

Jasper nodded, smiling without humor. “I don’t think better circumstances are going to exist for a while. Safe travels, Warden.”

They squelched their way back to camp, all of them unusually silent. What a pile of shit. Really. What more could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did write a Hawke/Jasper smut scene but they're just two very non-compatible people and I didn't like how it went, so I've left it up to y'all's imaginations. Like if they had to work together for more than a couple of missions, they'd fucking kill each other. You can only have one crackhead on a team. And their energy simple does not vibe.
> 
> Can you see Dorian slowly but surely catching feelings and Jasper being entirely oblivious
> 
> If you see the ME3 reference gimme a kiss


	12. Fuck Literacy

They travelled back to Skyhold soon after Hawke and Indira left for the Western Approach. Jasper felt a little nervous without a mage in his numbers, but tried not to let it show. Between himself, Varric, and Cassandra, he was sure they would take on anyone fool enough to mess with them. Luckily, they encountered no trouble, but Jasper was preoccupied with wondering if he should’ve taken Dorian along after all. But they made it back to Skyhold without injury or issue.

If only his experience in Skyhold itself could go so smoothly.

For once, Jasper was itching to be back on the road. He felt useless in Skyhold, stuck in constant meetings with Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. He couldn’t stand the circular arguments. You’d think that with all the sudden support they were receiving from the nobles of Orlais, that the three of them would be able to figure something out. Yet even as they were securing passage to the Emerald Graves, Emprise du Lion, the Exalted Plains, and many other regions, the council found things to argue about.

“What do you think, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked him, rousing him from a reverie in which he had been imagining himself as a nug. He shook the image from his brain and stared blankly at Josephine.

“I agree with whatever Sister Leliana said,” Jasper said, nodding his head as if he had been paying attention all along.

Josephine rolled her eyes as Leliana stifled a chuckle, disguising it as a slight cough into her gloved fist. “Amazing, since Sister Leliana has said nothing to this topic. Neither has Cullen, so don’t try and agree with him. How do you feel...perhaps making a speech over dinner with our visiting dignitaries and nobles?”

Jasper blinked stupidly. “That’s a really fucking dumbass idea, no offense, Josie. First, you _know_ I can’t read and therefore would need to rehearse with a person. Secondly, I am me. Are you sure you really trust me to address the nobles?”

Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve already worked time into my schedule this evening, Jasper, to help you prepare. And besides, it’ll be short, very short, believe me. I trust you completely, of course, but we might be in agreement on...er...well, your loquaciousness.” Jasper blinked at the big word, face impassive. “Regardless, it’ll just be a quick address. A welcome, a thank-you, a promise to eradicate Corypheus, red templars, Venatori, and to restore peace and order. I think even you can handle that.”

“You place oh-so much faith in me, Josephine,” Jasper said with a sigh. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

Josephine smiled triumphantly. “Very good. Then I believe we are done here; Inquisitor, if you’ll stay behind with me to rehearse?”

***  
Addressing the nobles could’ve gone worse. Jasper only cursed _four times_ , and only one of them was a really bad one. Josephine was less smiling than she was grimacing as Jasper stumbled through the whole affair. The visiting nobles exchanged dubious glances but still kept bright little smiles on their polite faces, as if the barbarian Inquisitor were putting on an endearing show for them all. Nearly the entirety of Jasper’s inner circle were trying desperately to subdue and muffle their barely-contained laughter, red in the face with the effort, tears streaking down their faces.

“And, I um…” Jasper said, rounding up the speech. “We’re gonna kick Corypheus in the nutsack, mark my words. It’ll be great. Although I’m not certain he has a nutsack - whatever, that’s an unpleasant mental image. Forget I said that. Um, go team!”

Jasper punched his hand in the air awkwardly. After a moment, Josephine started clapping, his cue to sit his ass down and pretend he wasn’t an idiot. The other nobles followed suit in clapping, as did the inner circle, finally letting their laughter out. Jasper was blushing horribly, practically red as a beet, but he didn’t care as long as he got to drink all he wanted. Which he did, as Josephine promised him when he nearly stormed out during their rehearsal that afternoon.

Jasper poured himself a very generous measure of whiskey, which he clinked with the glasses of all those near him, as if he’d given a good speech. He grinned and chugged it, shuddering at the burn and the astringency. He poured another inch and sipped it as he dug into the feast in honor of the visiting nobles. Maker, it was good. Better than the field rations they had to eat out on the road.

“I always knew you had a way with words, Boss,” Iron Bull remarked with a rumbling chuckle as he reached for the dish of braised duck. Jasper grinned around a mouthful of grapes. “Brought a tear to my eye.”

“Not everyone can be burdened with such a purposeful gift,” Jasper quipped. “But shoulder this burden I do.”

The meal passed in relative ease. The nobles didn’t nitpick on the comparatively humble choice of food, which was always a concern for Josephine. And no rowdy debates happened at the table either, which was nothing short of a miracle. Jasper liked these meals when they were all together. All of them. How they were all incredibly different yet united in their ideals.

Maybe it was just the warm whiskey getting to him, making him wax poetic about friendship. Still, at the end of the day, they were all just soldiers anyway, no matter where they came from or what brought them there.

***  
The next morning their small squad left for the Emerald Graves. Jasper had decided that it was time Cassandra and Varric got a break from always traveling with him, especially with the practically nonexistent respite between the two missions. Cassandra expresses her concern, but Jasper waved her off.

“Don’t know when you’ll get another vacation like this, Seeker,” he warned. “Make the most of it and stop looking a gift-Inquisitor in the mouth.”

In the end, Jasper selected Blackwall, Dorian, and Sera to accompany him into the ancient Dales. The Emerald Graves were beautiful - everything was a lush, vibrant green, full of life. The sky was impossibly blue. The creeks and streams were impossibly clear. There was an abundance of wildlife everywhere. And, of course, everything was tainted with the Civil War. Celene’s and Gaspard’s forces were sizable, but the war had gone on so long that deserters were rather prevalent. Unfortunately, the Emerald Graves was where they decided it was a good enough place to settle, attacking passers by as if they were no more than common bandits, bathing the beautiful land with blood.

“Why does everything have to be shitty all at once?” Jasper complained as they struck down a small band of those deserters. They called themselves the Freemen of the Dales. Bullshit. “Can’t they take turns? I can only deal with so much shit at once.”

“Oh, you thought this would be easy?” Dorian scoffed. “Fixing the mage-templar war, dealing with the Breach and rifts and the Chantry, contending with an ancient magister ascending to godhood and his pet dragon, battling the Venatori and the red templars, figuring out what’s going on with the Wardens. And a civil war on top of all that? Child’s play.”

Jasper huffed a dry laugh. “Could be worse. We could have allied with Tevinter.”

Dorian made a disapproving noise, shaking his head with vague amusement as he brushed past Jasper. Jasper rolled his eyes, stopping on the banks of the small stream, and pulled his flask out of an inner pocket. He unstoppered it and took a quick pull. Maybe it would make him less of an ass. Maybe moreso. That was always the fun bit, seeing which path being inebriated would lead him down.

After a couple of hours of closing rifts, Jasper called to head back to the forward camp. He was exhausted. He’s barely had a restful night’s sleep in weeks now. He knew eventually he would just burn out, with or without the self-medication. His body would simply reach its breaking point.

Sera returned to camp with some freshly slaughtered nugs to cook up over the blazing campfire Dorian and Blackwall had gotten going. Jasper was trying to set up the extra tents for himself and his companions, much to everyone’s amusement. Jasper had very few talents. Unfortunately camping was not on that exclusive list, despite the months of constant traveling. The others were snickering, even Harding and the other scouts. _They_ were the ones who hadn’t had the tents set up early enough, forcing Jasper to take care of it.

“A little help?” he called as he wrestled with the poles and canvas. “Dorian? Can’t you just use some Tevinter blood-magic to get the tents to put themselves together?”

Dorian sighed. “Still with the jabs at Tevinter, Inquisitor? How typical. Some new material, perhaps?”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Oh, but they just sum up the worst of humanity so eloquently. Arrogant, dastardly, egotistical - “

“Devilishly handsome,” Dorian interrupted, counting on his fingers. “Charming, witty, fashionable - oh, no, that’s just me, isn’t it?”

Jasper was blushing suddenly, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was because, once again, he was being reminded that hating Tevinters and hating Dorian were two entirely different things, and were becoming harder and harder to rationalize. “So modest, too.”

Sera giggled shrilly at something Blackwall said under his breath. Jasper and Dorian turned to them, eyebrows raised in question. “Er - nothing, ‘Quizzy,” Sera insisted, lips still spread in a mirthful grin. The way her eyes jumped from Jasper to Dorian and back betrayed her, however. “Nothin’ at all.”

Blackwall coughed into his hand to stifle a chuckle. “Maybe the allergens are getting to you, Inquisitor.”

Jasper looked at the setting sun. The sun was lowering steadily, painting the entire environment a beautiful sherbert color. The verdant scenery seemed to glow gold in the dying light. It was beautiful, despite the pollen floating in the air.

The nugs were set to roasting over the fire, twirling sadly. Jasper would like to have a pet, he thought. Maybe a nug. Maybe a mabari. He was roused from his thoughts by Scout Harding approaching him with a missive, her round, sweet face rather serious, a little intrigued.

“This arrived for you a little bit ago, Inquisitor,” she said, handing him the folded parchment. “A young man dropped it off personally. I’d wager a bet he’s one of Fairbanks’ people.”

“Fairbanks?” Jasper asked, eyeing the letter apprehensively. He swallowed thickly.

“He’s a local, as far as I can tell, who has formed a refugee camp for those ousted from their homes by the civil war and by the Freemen,” Harding explained dutifully, hands clasped behind her back. “He’s organized them into somewhat of a militia so they can stand their own against the Freemen. They don’t have enough supplies, weapons, or numbers, however, from what I’ve scouted.”

Jasper nodded. “Ah. Yes. Thank you, Harding. I’ll, uh…” He raised the missive and pressed his lips together, then headed into his tent. Once the flap swung shut behind him, he let out a sigh of apprehension and irritation. “Shit.”

He looked at the outside of the letter. He slid a finger through the plain wax seal, crumbling it. He opened the letter, slowly, feeling the weighty vellum of the parchment. It was fancy, that much was certain. Soft. He looked at the squiggles on the paper. The letters, the words. All of it nonsense to him. He scrunched his eyebrows together, feeling so stupid and helpless and useless. He couldn’t even read a fucking letter, for Maker’s sake! He never thought he depended on Cassandra so much as his reader, his writer, his scribe, when they were out in the field. He took a moment to try and remember how many missives she’d read to him and answered for him when they’d been away from Skyhold.

It was a lot.

He shouldn’t have left her behind, really. He glanced back at the letter. It would have to wait. He could send for her from Skyhold - ah, but that required drafting a missive to be sent. He could start barking orders for one of the scouts to do it, but the very thought made him nauseated. It was not like him at all to do something barbaric like that. As if they were servants.

Jasper started pacing, running his hands through his curls, chewing his lip nervously. It would be weird if he let it sit and wait, wouldn’t it? Harding would want to know their game plan. She’d be suspicious if Jasper brushed it off. And if Jasper went and sought out this Fairbanks person without knowing what the letter contained - what if Fairbanks had challenged him to a duel, for goodness’ sake? Maybe Fairbanks didn’t want other seemingly altruistic people cramping his style, stealing his thunder.

“Dinner’s ready, Inquisitor,” Dorian announced, poking his head in, catching Jasper pacing the small tent. Dorian raised an eyebrow, taking in Jasper’s clearly agitated disposition. He stepped in and let the tent flap fall shut behind him. “Is everything quite alright?”

Jasper let out a long sigh, feeling slightly choked up now that there was someone here to witness his anxiety and insecurities. “Yes, perfectly fucking peachy, thanks for asking, Pavus.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed and he took a small step closer, posture open. “Is it that letter?” he asked, gesturing to the bit of paper in Jasper’s clenched hand.

Jasper looked down at it and unclenched his hand with some effort. He let out a carefully controlled breath. “No.”

“You don’t sound terribly convincing, Inquisitor,” he teased, folding his arms and fixing a playful yet calculative look on Jasper. “Is it a confession of love from one of the noblewomen visiting Skyhold? Declaring she can’t survive another moment without you, and that you must return post-haste, lest she faint?”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “You’re so full of shit, Pavus.”

“Oh, then is it a naughty letter?” Dorian asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Is that why you’re so flushed?”

Jasper’s cheeks reddened further. “I’m gonna slap that smirk off your face if you don’t watch it.”

“Ooh, am I getting closer to the truth?” Dorian asked, grin widening as he approached Jasper. He tsked. “How scandalous.”

“No, Dorian, you’re nowhere near the truth,” Jasper insisted, taking a step back for every step Dorian took forward. So unfamiliar; typically, Jasper was the one advancing on Dorian - and Dorian was more than eager to meet him. “Please don’t push it.”

Dorian stopped, apparently taken aback by Jasper’s sudden manners. A please? When was the last time Jasper had used that word? Outside of sex, that is, when he was begging wantonly. “Is it bad, then, Inquisitor? I don’t mean to pry, of course, I just - “

“No, it’s fine,” Jasper interrupted, running a hand through his hair and avoiding Dorian’s eye. “It’s just - “ He found himself choking again, unable to get the words to leave his mouth.

“Come now, you can tell me, if it bothers you that much,” Dorian told him, dropping his arms again. “Is it a proposal? I know that that always chills my blood.”

“No, it’s not!” Jasper snapped, feeling his eyes burn slightly. “Please, stop teasing me about this!”

“I’m not - well, yes I am,” Dorian admitted. “But not to antagonize you, I promise. Do you...want to tell me about the letter and what has upset you so much? Or do you want me to leave?”

Again, Jasper felt his throat choking off as he tried to force the words out. He blinked, his vision blurring with tears. He ran both hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, teeth clenched. “I don’t know, Pavus,” he finally managed to eke out. “I…” He took a deep breath and it came out harshly, too close to a sob for Jasper’s comfort. “I don’t know what it says.”

Dorian looked rather confused, eyebrows scrunched together. “Is it not written in the trade tongue?” he asked, gently taking the letter from Jasper’s clenched fingers. It wasn’t uncommon for an individual to only know the trade tongue, in addition to their native tongue. In Ferelden and the Free Marches, the trade tongue was the native tongue, at least currently. No one spoke ancient Ferelden. Dorian was just confused why any missive written to the Inquisition would be in any language except for the common tongue.

Jasper shook his hanging head as Dorian took the letter and smoothed out the wrinkles. Dorian peered at it. It was written in the trade tongue, alright, in rather stellar penmanship to boot. Dorian looked from the letter signed by a fellow named Fairbanks, telling the Inquisitor he had information for him, to Jasper.

“I don’t understand,” Dorian said softly. “It’s perfectly legible.”

Jasper took a shuddering breath, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Andraste’s balls, it had been so much easier to tell Leliana and the others he couldn’t read. Then, he’d been combative. He’d been seeking to shock them. He’d wanted to see their reactions. He was challenging them, daring them. Now, however, he felt weak and stupid telling Dorian, this fancy-pants academic, that he couldn’t read.

It was so hard to get the words out, though.

“Inquisitor?” Dorian pushed after a moment, ducking his head slightly to try and catch Jasper’s eye. Jasper mumbled something, muffled into his arms, directed to the floor. Dorian blinked. “I...didn’t quite catch that, Inquisitor.”

Jasper tore his hands from his face, the shame of having to keep repeating it forcing the words from his mouth finally in an explosion. “I can’t fucking read!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face. He clapped his hands to his mouth again, reflexively, and looked away from Dorian quickly. He didn’t want to see them judgment in the mage’s eyes.

“You…don’t know how to read?” Dorian clarified cautiously. “Is that what’s gotten you so riled up?”

Jasper nodded, clenching his teeth, seething. Still refusing to look at Dorian. He fixed his eyes on a shiny buckle on his armor instead, waiting. He was ready for Dorian to laugh at him. To ridicule him. To call him a stupid, barbaric elf. Even most Dalish elves knew how to read common, as well as some ancient Elven. Jasper was a special case of stupid.

“Would you like me to tell you what the letter says?” Dorian offered after a moment of quiet.

Jasper looked up at him suddenly, rather flabbergasted. “Are you mocking me?” he asked warily, taking a step back, hands clenched into fists.

Dorian shook his head. “No, Inquisitor, of course not. I - how do you usually manage out in the field? Surely you’ve received missives in the past?”

Jasper shrugged, wiping his face with his sleeve, shoulders falling. “Cassandra handles correspondence for me.”

“Ah,” Dorian said, seeing the problem. “And she’s back in Skyhold now. That’s alright, Inquisitor. The letter is from this Fairbanks fellow, no first name given. An assumed moniker, perhaps? A pseudonym? He claims to have information pertinent for the Inquisition, but he will only tell it over in person. He included details of how to find the refugee camp he’s running.”

Jasper nodded. “Ah - thank you, Dorian. Please don’t tell the others about this.”

Dorian nodded, smiling softly. Sometimes Jasper forgot that Dorian wasn’t as much of a prig as he wanted to believe. “Of course not. My lips are sealed.” He started to head back out of the tent, but paused near the entryway. He looked back at Jasper, hesitating for some reason. Jasper looked back at him, fidgeting.

“Yes?” Jasper asked, feeling suddenly very self-conscious of his appearance. His eyes were probably puffy, and his face might be splotchy, and his eyeliner had definitely run, and his curls were probably askew, and he most definitely just looked a frightful mess. Who could blame Dorian for not propositioning him then, even though Jasper low-key hoped he would? Nothing better to get his mind out of his internalized anxiety than a good rutting. But Dorian obviously wasn’t going to make a move, and Jasper didn’t feel confident enough to shoot his shot right then.

“Inquisitor,” Dorian said slowly, biting his lip slightly. A habit he hadn’t had when he’d first joined the Inquisition. “Would it be...presumptuous of myself...if I offered to teach you how to read?”

Jasper was frozen for a second, then scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you making fun of me, Pavus?”

“No, Jasper, I promise I’m not,” Dorian insisted, and his eyes gleamed with an earnest sincerity. “I would like to help you. I...sometimes I feel like I’m not really contributing much to the Inquisition, outside of having something pretty to look at, and being your...stress relief.” His eyes darkened slightly, just momentarily, no doubt reliving one of their many interludes together. Jasper knew he himself was.

“You _are_ useful. You’re a brilliant researcher,” Jasper blurted. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to show Dorian how useful he was to the Inquisition, but he had to. “And a damn skilled mage. I don’t mind rushing into battle with you at my side.”

Dorian was blushing now, his golden skin taking on a reddish hue. He coughed into his hand to clear his throat, absently fiddling with the curl of his mustache. “Ah - thank you, Inquisitor. That is...too gracious of you to say.”

Jasper was blushing and fidgeting, too. He wasn’t used to giving compliments that weren’t designed to get someone into his bed. “It’s true.”

“So, what do you say?” Dorian asked, steering the topic back to his offer. “Do you want me to teach you to read and write? I’ve been told I’m a rather fantastic tutor.”

Jasper raised a brow, considering, biting his lip slightly. More prolonged time spent in the company of Dorian? Jasper wasn’t sure they’d get much book-learning done. Already, he was imagining Dorian as the hard-ass, strict teacher, bent on breaking in the rebellious delinquent student -

He shook himself, dispelling the fantasy. “Erm...yeah. I suppose. Why not? Might come in handy one of these days.”

Dorian smiled slightly at Jasper, then pulled back the tent flap and exited, leaving Jasper alone with his thoughts.

***  
Jasper wasn’t sure how he felt around Dorian now. The man now knew one of his deepest secrets. Jasper felt...vulnerable, he supposed. He didn’t know how he felt about Dorian knowing so much about him. It was making things complicated now. Dorian was...well, his comrade, certainly, and his fuckbuddy, but now things were getting a little...confusing. Blurry, rather. The line was no longer clear. They looked at each other a little differently now.

He’d have to clarify things. Just to make sure that they were still...the way they were before.

But first, while Dorian put in a requisition request with Josephine for books and tablets for his lessons, they had to deal with the Emerald Graves and this Fairbanks person. They set out for him a little after first light, having all of them grumbled through a sad breakfast of porridge and hard-boiled eggs.

It was a sparkling, dewy morning. The tall, thick, lush grasses were shining in the rising sun, the dew slowly evaporating in the morning light. It was weird to think that this was at one point Jasper’s ancestral home. He felt very little affinity to the Dalish elves, truly, particularly clan Lavellan. He wondered how quickly they left after it was reported that Tevinter slavers were in the area and had already taken one of their own.

Jasper glanced over to Sera as they ate their breakfast. He thought they were alike, at first, both being rather distant from their elven heritage. But they were so different in their approach. Sera resented all “elfiness”. Even city elves, she had a bone to pick with. Jasper didn’t care much about his elven roots, sure, but he was still proudly elf. He just didn’t think it mattered much, being elf or human or dwarf or qunari. Sera just pretended she...wasn’t.

“Let’s get rolling,” Jasper announced after licking his bowl clean. “Everyone ready?”

Blackwall, Sera, and Dorian nodded, grim-faced. They never knew what sort of shit they would stumble into any time they left the forward camp behind. Sometimes they wandered into a dragon’s nest and high-tailed it back out, since it was just defending its territory and not disrupting any villages or trade routes. Sometimes all they did was shut rifts and kill demons. Other days, they wandered around up and down hills and through rocky tunnels, getting lost and achieving naught but blisters on their feet.

“Are you sure you read that map right?” Blackwall grumbled, shoving rashvine and spiderwebs out of his face as they passed through a tunnel. This tunnel was formed by two adjacent cliff faces, their boulders rolling off to meet each other in the center to form a roof. To be honest, it gave Jasper the willies. It couldn’t be _that_ stable.

Jasper glared at him. “Yes, I think I can read a damned map. We should be close...it looked like it was somewhere around this rock formation. Ah - hear that? That’s the sound of a camp.” He could hear bustling, chitchat, a general muffled din. He grinned at the others, but Dorian and Blackwall exchanged a look.

“Don’t hear anything, Inquisitor,” Blackwall told him.

Jasper tapped his ears. “My superpower, Blackwall. I know I’m so tall for an elf, it’s easy to forget and think I’m a human. Pardon the superior hearing.”

Blackwall chuckled. “‘Tall for an elf,’ he says. Maybe tall for a dwarf.”

Jasper chucked an acorn at the back of Blackwall’s head as they continued through the narrow tunnel. Blackwall cursed, but stifled his following laughter. Sera snorted. “Nice aim.”

Moments later, they stepped out into a wide, open, roofless cavern, sun spilling in through the canopy of trees above. It was rather stunning. And there were people everywhere; villagers and militia, healers and Chantry sisters. There were more people than Jasper was expecting, everyone at work, not a single idle hand to be seen.

Jasper looked around, blinking. Where was the man, Fairbanks?

A moment later, a tall man strode toward them with great confidence, holding himself as if he were nobility. It was in the set of his shoulders and jaw, the tilt of his head, the impeccable posture. He was dressed in rather worn-out clothes that appeared to have once been rather fine, despite the frayed edges and faded colors. Jasper supposed, what with the war and the nobles abandoning their chateaus in the region, there were plenty of nice clothes to pilfer. But the thing was, this man looked good in them, like they were tailored to his broad shoulders and tapered waist.

“You must be the Inquisition,” the man greeted in a light Orlesian accent, extending his hand to Jasper. “I am Fairbanks.”

Jasper took his hand. It was big and warm and Jasper found himself praying that please, may Fairbanks be at least a little queer - just a little? Just bicurious? Because with his long, thick, dark hair tied back in a loose, messy bun and the accumulation of a few days’ stubble and those intense blue eyes -

“Er - hi,” Jasper greeted with a wide, toothy smile. “Jasper. And these are my companions: Warden Blackwall, Sera, and Master Pavus.”

“An honor to meet the Inquisition,” Fairbanks said, nodding in acknowledgment to each of them in turn. “I am at your service, Inquisitor.”

Jasper crossed his arms and gave Fairbanks an appraising look. He saw Fairbanks give him one of his own. “I hear you’ve got pertinent information for us, is that right?”

Fairbanks hesitated, mulling it over. “Yes. You’ve met the Freemen of the Dales, I’m sure? Aggressive bastards, no? Destroying the already fragile peace here. Chasing people from their homes and villages. Stealing. Killing my men. We’ve tried to fight them, but we cannot match their strength - we barely have enough resources to keep everyone fed. You, however, can match their strength.”

Jasper examined his nails distractedly, affecting an air of nonchalance. “We could. We’ve taken out a few bands of them already, Fairbanks. Now what’s your offer? You clearly want us to take care of your dirty work. But what can you give me in exchange?” He met Fairbanks’ eyes and didn’t look away, didn’t blink. If the man thought Jasper would run his errands out of the goodness of his heart, he had another thing coming.

“They are colluding with your enemy,” Fairbanks told him slowly. “The red templars. I’ve seen them. At the very least, they are trading supplies, however I think it is more sinister than that. Destroy the Freemen, and they’ll lead you straight to the red templar outposts. That, I promise.”

Jasper sighed. “Another thing to add to the to-do list, I suppose.”

“Help us, and everything I know about the Dales, the region, the war, I will share with the Inquisition,” Fairbanks vowed. Jasper grimaced. He was sure Fairbanks was a smart man, but what did he know that Leliana didn’t? Still, it was better than nothing as thanks for ridding the Dales of the Freemen. Since it really rather was something that needed to be dealt with.

“Right-o, Fairbanks, you got yourself a deal,” Jasper said, reaching forward and clasping Fairbanks by the forearm to signify the sealing of the agreement. Fairbanks grasped his forearm, too, and nodded. Jasper yanked him a little closer, just enough to throw the Orlesian man off balance, and made a kissy motion, grinning as the man flushed indignantly and pulled back, brushing his clothes off with his hands as if Jasper had gotten his second-class taint on him.

“Be safe, Inquisitor,” Fairbanks said tautly in farewell as Jasper led the way back out. There was very little in the way of motion inside the refugee camp. Something about the desperation in the air reminded Jasper uncomfortably of Haven in those first few days after the Conclave and the explosion. Jasper was glad to be back in the open air, even if it meant going toe to toe with the roaming bands of Freemen.

“Were the fuck-me eyes and the kisses really necessary?” Dorain hissed as they traipsed back through the thick greenery.

Jasper tossed an uncaring glance his way. “Ooh, jealous, are we? There is more than plenty of me to go around. You know that firsthand, Pavus.” Jasper grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth as he outpaced the others, fiddling with the knives at his belt. “Start acting all jealous and people will jump to conclusions.”

Blackwall cleared his throat as Dorian turned cherry red and opened his mouth to respond. Blackwall glanced at the two of them. “They already have, Inquisitor. In case you haven’t noticed. I mean, you aren’t the most subtle of people, either of you.”

Jasper shrugged. “I’m subtle where it matters. Like getting close enough to someone to slit their throat before they even notice their coin purse is gone. What do I care about gossip?”

The topic of Dorian and Jasper was not brought up again by anyone for the rest of the day, as they ransacked the camps of the Freemen, slicing them down mercilessly. Jasper knew he was no better than them - he had been a deserter of sorts, he had been a bandit, he had been ruthless and immoral. It was weird to think of these things in the past tense. They had been his definition for so long, he wasn’t sure quite what he was anymore.

Jasper didn’t like to think he was avoiding Dorian. But if Dorian was getting attached - well, things were just better off if they remained distant, if Jasper reaffirmed his lack of interest in a relationship. Dorian would get over himself eventually, when he remembered that they were simply friends with benefits, nothing more. That was their arrangement, after all. Dorian was just being a little jealous, which was normal when you were only sleeping with one person. It happened. Maybe he just needed to branch out, fuck more people. Jasper, however, kept these thoughts to himself. He doubted Dorian would appreciate being told any of that.

Distance was harder to maintain when they returned to Skyhold, having eradicated the red templar and Freemen presence in the Dales. Now there was the matter of Jasper’s reading lessons. Part of him thought - hoped, even - that Dorian meant it as a joke. Or at the very least, simply had not been serious about teaching a fully grown elf how to read. But the first thing Dorian did upon return to Skyhold was to collect the supplies he had requisitioned.

The nerves were something else. Jasper had not been expecting them. He was not an anxious person, usually. Most of the time when he wasn’t fighting, he was just stoned enough to dull the general ache of nerves that permeated his life as Inquisitor. So maybe he was an anxious person, but just suppressed it really well. That was a talent, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to get too high, however, afraid he wouldn’t be able to focus and remember Dorian’s lesson. As much trepidation as he felt, he also felt quite a bit of excitement.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door to Jasper’s sumptuous chambers. Since being in Skyhold, the room had transformed from rather bare to something glamorous. Josephine had spared no expense in furnishing it with fine furs and silks. Curious, considering he was usually the only person in it, and he spent most of his time in the field. He wasn’t used to such lavish quarters. When he would mess around with serving girls or stable boys, he never bothered to bring them back to his rooms, not wanting to deal with telling someone that no, they were not spending the night with him. It was usually out in the open, behind a building; or else in their own quarters, if the folks they shared rooms with were not around.

“Come in,” Jasper called nervously, biting his nails. He heard the door creak open and close heavily, then the soft taps of Dorian’s fine boots on the stone steps. Jasper hated those stairs. They were a bitch when he was drunk. Jasper glanced toward them. He saw the stack of books and writing supplies before he saw Dorian himself, practically bent over backwards with the weight of the stack. Jasper watched as he set them down on the unused desk, brushing his hair back with one hand.

Dorian looked around at the splendid room. “How do I petition Josephine for quarters as nice as this?” he quipped, giving Jasper a half-smile.

Jasper lowered his hand, a piece of cuticle still between his teeth. “Have it, if you want it. It’s got a great view of the training yard - it’s real nice when Iron Bull or Cullen spar. Those men were meant to be shirtless all the time. Glad Bull got the memo.”

Dorian’s smile maybe went a little flat, but besides that he revealed no change in emotions. “They are rather magnificent specimens of the male gender. Much like myself, of course.”

“Male, shmale,” Jasper muttered. “You should see Cass sparring, when she only wears a tunic and trousers, no armor. She’s got nice tits. Wish mine were as nice as hers.”

Dorian chuckled. “Unfortunately for you, you are rather flat.”

Jasper glanced at him and smirked. “Would you still fuck me if I had boobs?”

Dorian glanced out the window, shrugging a little. “I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. You do have a rather magnificent cock, however.”

“Flatterer,” Jasper teased, winking, letting Dorian draw closer. He saw the man’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, holding up a bottle suddenly, as if throwing up a fence between them.

“A...gift,” Dorian explained, handing the bottle of wine to Jasper. “Like a house-warming gift. An excellent vintage, I can attest.”

“For me?” Jasper asked excitedly, taking the bottle eagerly. He grinned up at Dorian, but there was a slight blush on the elf’s cheeks. “I don’t remember the last time I got a gift. Shall we pop it open?”

“Save it for afterwards. Come on, we’re getting distracted,” Dorian chastised lightly, his warm breath fanning over Jasper’s face, making him shiver. “Stop looking at me like that. I am not using these lessons as an excuse to get you alone, Inquisitor, believe it or not. And the gifts are not to butter you up. I don’t need gifts to do that. But I do want to teach you.”

Nerves, again. Jasper swallowed and nodded, pulling up an extra chair to the desk, setting the bottle of wine aside. He hadn’t gotten Dorian anything. Should he have? He wasn’t really sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given a material gift like this. “I know. Ordering and carrying a stack of books that tall is quite the committed ruse.”

Dorian sat in the other chair, bisecting the stack into seemingly arbitrary categories. Jasper felt like a child, a schoolkid, as Dorian sorted through the books, setting some aside on the floor, and moving the quills and parchment to the side.

“We’ll start with the basics,” Dorian said, taking a thin, brightly colored book and opening it to the first page. “The alphabet, of course. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the letters before, on signs and in shops. Do you know any of them?”

Jasper shook his head, biting his lip, careful of his lip ring. “To be honest, Dorian...I can barely spell my own name, much less write it. Other than that...nothing.”

Dorian’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly, but he did well at schooling his features. “No matter. Let’s begin. We’ll start by learning the names of the letters, the sounds they make, and how to write them.”

Jasper swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, shyly glancing up at Dorian through his dark lashes. He was going to humiliate himself in this endeavor, he already knew it. But the look in Dorian’s eyes was so tender that Jasper allowed himself to be herded along in the book-learning.

***  
They held out as long as they could. Jasper had memorized the entire alphabet and how to write each letter, and was making some real headway on their individual sounds and what sounds they made when combined. They were doing so well, focused on the lesson. Both Jasper and Dorian were putting in a conscious effort to ignore the desire brewing in their blood. But, alas. One could only hang on so long

“Fuck, Dorian!” Jasper moaned, as loud as he wanted. He had large, luxurious quarters now, and he would make the most of them. And their privacy. “Fuck me harder, Dorian, faster. Oh, Maker’s balls, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Dorian was panting hot breaths against Jasper’s throat, lips trailing light but sloppy kisses along his neck as he pistoned his hips relentlessly, his cock throbbing and his balls tightening. Jasper was writhing with pleasure, pumping his own flushed cock in one hand while the other clung to Dorian desperately, grasping, clutching, digging.

Dorian wrapped his hand around Jasper’s fist, and Jasper whimpered as they jerked him off together, his mouth wide open with wanton pleasure. Maker, he loved Dorian’s touch, his hot skin, his big, calloused hands. The cool balance of his rings against his hot flesh. Dorian’s fingers around his throat, squeezing slightly, the way Jasper always begged for him to. Jasper’s back arched suddenly as he came, Dorian’s name a strangled scream, a moan, a prayer floating in the rafters. Dorian gasped as Jasper clenched around him with his orgasm, riding out the waves of it. It was all Dorian needed to send him over the edge. He bit down, hard, on Jasper’s shoulder as he spilled his seed deep in Jasper, trembling slightly with the force of his orgasm.

“Fucking hell, Dorian,” Jasper was gasping, trying to catch his breath. “You’re stealing my moves - that biting while orgasming thing? Absolute ladykiller.”

Dorian chuckled breathlessly, releasing Jasper’s long legs from where he had had them bent by Jasper’s sides. The elf stretched his arms over his head as Dorian flopped down beside him onto the huge, comfy bed, swathed in silk and furs and fleece. He quickly cleaned up Jasper’s seed off his chest with a shirt that had been hastily discarded when they had abandoned their lesson. He thought it was Jasper’s tunic, but he couldn’t be sure. Neither seemed to care.

Dorian stared up at the vaulted ceiling and its wooden beams as he realized that this was the first time they’d been together in a bed. A proper bed, not a bedroll in camp or a cot. Dorian turned to look at Jasper, who had a lean, muscled arm thrown over his eyes, breath still coming out in heavy pants. Dorian felt a heat creep into his face. Jasper was beautiful right now. It typically wasn’t a word Dorian would ever use to describe the elf - sexy, brazen, debauched, wanton, bold - those were all good words. Handsome, even, objectively speaking. But with the way the golden, late afternoon sunlight hit his porcelain skin, and the messy curls of his hair slicked back with sweat, the sharp rise and fall of his narrow chest - Dorian was struck dumb with the realization of how beautiful Jasper really was. It was a shocking notion. One that made Dorian equal parts elated and terrified.

Jasper turned to look at Dorian, removing the arm from his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips bruised, his eyes bright and fluttery, lashes thick and long. _That_ was the face of temptation. He truly was a desire demon.

“You okay?” Jasper asked, voice thick and breathy. “Sleepy?”

Dorian opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure how to answer, really. Here he was, sharing Jasper’s bed. Even if it was nothing more than a chance to catch his breath. Even if Jasper would have someone else in it tonight. He was in such a terrifyingly intimate position with the man who had been plaguing his dreams for months.

Definitely not sleepy.

“Do you know any Elven?” Dorian asked suddenly, willing his heartbeat to return to normal. Thinking of Jasper in the way he longed to was not an option. He needed a distraction. One that wasn’t an elf and hazel-eyed and covered in tattoos and piercings and scars. One that didn’t have a markedly bad attitude and an insatiable sex drive.

Jasper seemed taken aback by the question. He bit his lower lip, releasing it slowly between his teeth. Dorian watched it attentively. “I...yeah. I remember a bit.” Dorian gestured for him to continue. “I remember a lot of curses.” He chuckled. “I remember _da’len_ , which means child. It’s endearing. My mama used to call me that, before she died.”

Dorian frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you...want to talk about...it?” It was shaky territory between them. It was awfully close to emotions.

Jasper shrugged. “She died trying to protect me from Tevinter slavers. She wouldn’t stop fighting, so they killed her instead of kidnapping her.”

Dorian flinched. “I’m sorry, Jasper.”

Jasper shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

Dorian sighed. “My people _are_ pretty awful, aren’t they?”

Jasper was quiet for a moment. He met Dorian’s stormy gray eyes before looking away just as quickly, knotting his fingers in the silky sheets. “I don’t...blame all of Tevinter for it. Anymore. I don’t blame you. I can't, really. Not everyone from Tevinter is a slaver.”

Dorian sat up. “You should, though. Blame all of us. It’s the mentality of the society that perpetuates the slave trade, the corruption, the blood magic. Every household, even mine, has slaves. We were all so...immune to it. I didn’t realize how...bizarre it was until coming to the South. The people don’t know how to live without slaves. But it needs to end. And until it does, every member of Tevinter society is responsible for it.”

Jasper sat up too, turning away and swinging his feet off the bed, not looking at Dorian. Dorian furrowed his brow. Had he said something wrong?

“I...have some plans to go over with Cullen,” Jasper blurted suddenly, as if struck by inspiration. An excuse. Dorian’s shoulders fell. “For the Western Approach. We need to reconvene with Hawke and Indira ASAP. Um, feel free to stay as long as you like. Rest. Excuse me.”

He got dressed hastily, so rushed. Dorian frowned. What had he said wrong? He couldn’t figure it out. He couldn’t figure out Jasper as he practically ran from his own room, hair still a mess of bed head. Maker, it was so obvious he had just had sex.

Dorian did not stay. A few minutes later, after taking considerably more time fixing himself up, he left the Inquisitor’s quarters, ignoring the twittering whispers of the gossiping nobles and the stony glare of Mother Giselle. Nothing new there. But it seemed that once Jasper accepted the title of Inquisitor, everyone seemed so much more interested in who he invited to bed.

Dorian did not know that he was the only one, at least so far, who Jasper had properly invited to his bed.

It didn’t matter, did it, though? By the simple trait of being from Tevinter, Dorian was the center of much gossip. He knew that being one of Jasper’s travel companions, the talk would only swell. And now they had even more fuel.

The lessons continued, and Jasper was progressing by leaps and bounds - this was a side of him that Dorian had never fathomed existed. Ravenous for more information, parched for knowledge. Jasper delighted in each topic he conquered. From recognizing the letters to writing them, he quickly advanced to reading and writing full words. And then sentences. Short ones, like “the dog barked.” Then longer and more complex. Their lessons always ended the same way: sweaty and tangled in bedsheets. But they avoided anymore pillowtalk, Dorian unable to shake from his mind the image of Jasper looking so beautiful. Jasper, looking so tempting.

Dorian watched from afar, keeping his emotions reigned in, as Jasper would fool around with others in the keep. It wasn’t his business. Even though he couldn’t keep his eyes off Jasper when they were in the same room. Even though he found himself thinking about Jasper when they were separated. Even though he found himself worrying relentlessly when Jasper went out in the field without him. It wasn’t his business. And it never would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo this is probably really disjointed but I don't sleep anymore so I don't know how to edit anymore. I know there are defo some inconsistencies with previous chapters, but they're not major so I don't care enough to go back and edit.
> 
> Also I PROMISE I tried to make this slow burn. I really did. But I just want them to be in love already and it's also hard to keep your feelings in line when you're fucking someone, so. Dorian's catching feelings and Jasper's terrified of emotional intimacy and validation.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I liked the speech bit at the beginning, it makes me chuckle. Also teacher!Dorian????? Ahahahha sign me up, gents. I've already got a university AU planned out with Dorian as a TA, I'm excited. But one thing at a time, yes? I think after In Your Heart Shall Burn, I might take a break to finish writing this so I can just edit and post and start on other projects.
> 
> As always, I love your feedback and thoughts!!! I would love ideas, even just dialogue lines, that I can incorporate into this for y'all!!!


	13. Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> This is the trauma chapter!!!! Dorian's father reaches out, and we explore Dorian's past and pain. And then we explore Jasper's trauma, too. I purposely wanted to have this all in one chapter so you can theoretically skip it if you don't want to read it. It's just some trauma-bonding between Jasper and Dorian, because what better way to bond with someone than through shared trauma, ahahha. There's a lot of validation of emotions and comforting.
> 
> TW: parental abuse, kidnapping, rape (the actual rape is not detailed, but the emotional ramifications are), abuse, emotional manipulation and control, abusive relationships.
> 
> I do not condone any of this, of course, and I am not romanticizing it. Please reach out to someone if you need help.

Dorian continued to show up to Jasper’s lessons, of course, but he started to leave before Jasper could get him in bed. It had been one thing when it was just fucking. Dorian had been lying to himself for a long while now, telling himself that his emotions were just carnal. But as their lessons progressed, as he and Jasper just spent time talking, as Jasper started to read longer books and discuss them with Dorian...Maker, he couldn’t deny that Jasper maybe...well, it didn’t matter. Jasper had made it clear he was disinterested in an actual relationship. He was so emotionally distant. It was as it should be. If only Dorian could do the same.

Today, however, when Dorian arrived for their lesson, he found Jasper pacing the length of his room, biting the skin around his thumbnail, a nervous, frenetic energy in the air. He froze at the sound of Dorian’s feet on the stones, the flicker of Dorian’s ostentatious, violet robes at the edge of his peripheral. There was high color in his cheeks. He avoided Dorian’s eye. Dorian realized he was nervous. About Dorian.

“Jasper?” Dorian said, approaching him carefully, like Jasper was a wild animal that might bolt or attack at any second. Jasper was unpredictable at the best of times. Now, however, Dorian didn’t even know how to react or handle this. “Everything okay?”

“This is for you,” Jasper said in a whisper, still not looking at Dorian. “It’s a letter for you. Mother Giselle gave it to me. It’s...from your father.”

Dorian’s face became hard and unreadable as stone. Jasper knew Dorian’s relationship with his family was rocky at best, though he was unaware of any details. A lot of people resented their folks. “I see. Why is she receiving correspondence from my father?”

Jasper shrugged as Dorian snatched the parchment from his fingers, skimming it with disdain. “I don’t know. She didn’t say why. She just...showed it to me. She wanted me to - to lie to you and lure you to this meeting without showing you the letteror telling you about it. She said...she said that since you and I are so ‘ _close_ ’, I would be a better candidate than her to do so. That you don’t trust her, but that you would...trust me.”

Dorian scoffed. “Mother Giselle is a bitch who can barely conceal her disdain for me whenever she sees me. She looks as if she’s just smelled a bag of horse shit whenever I’m around her.”

Jasper gave a weak chuckle. “She does _not_ like you.”

“She can join the club,” Dorian muttered darkly as he finished reading the letter, fist clenching the edges of the fine, heavy vellum. “‘I know my son,’ he writes. What my father knows of me could barely fill a thimble! This is so _typical_. And this _retainer_. What a load of shit. I bet you he’s just a thug hired to hit me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Jasper said, finally meeting Dorian’s gray eyes. With the turmoil in Dorian’s eyes they were like a stormy ocean. “Fuck that shit. Fuck your family, and this retainer. They don’t give a shit about you.”

Dorian couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped him. “Oh, and you do?”

Jasper tried to hide the hurt that flickered across this face. There was no reason to be bothered by Dorian’s words. It wasn’t like they mattered. “Don’t make this about me, Dorian. I’ve come to consider you a friend, believe it or not, even if you are a ‘Vint. I want to help you. Don’t be an ass.”

Dorian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me. I’m...upset, to say the least.”

Jasper drew closer and placed a hand on Dorian’s arm. “That’s okay. Your feelings are valid.”

Dorian felt his heart go _ka-THUNK_ in his chest, followed by a rather nauseating fluttering of butterflies in his gut. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever said such a simple, kind thing to him before. He wasn’t sure that such a simple touch had ever set his blood on fire like this before.

“I...thank you, Jasper,” he said, mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat. “I think...I think I will meet the retainer at this tavern in Redcliffe. I want to know for myself...how my father thinks of me. If he’s truly sent a retainer to talk to me, or just a thug to drag me back to Tevinter.”

Jasper nodded. “Of course. We can leave right now if you want - should reach the nearest village just after sundown if we’re fast.”

Dorian blinked, confused. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Jasper said, cocking his head to the side. “You think I’m gonna let you walk into a potential ambush on your own? I would never let a member of the Inquisition walk into danger like that alone. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not, bitch.”

 _Ka-THUNK_. Dorian felt a bit weak in the knees as he met Jasper’s fiery gaze, like smoldering embers, so determined and full of protection. Dorian swallowed weakly. He really wanted to kiss Jasper right then, but if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to hide his emotions any longer.

He couldn’t look away from Jasper’s eyes, though, much as he wanted to. “Let’s go.”

***  
The advisors told Jasper that this was a bad idea, ill-advised and hasty, but he ignored them, saddling up his own steed with the bare essentials and helping Dorian do the same. There was no waiting, no debate, no maybes or what-ifs. This was the least he could do. He remembered the validating words Dorian had spoken to him a few weeks previous, after their tutoring lesson. No one had ever backed him up like that before. Jasper didn’t know quite how to deal with it, so he had run. But he really, truly wanted to help Dorian.

They didn’t talk much. Every question Jasper had was met with reticence, though he wasn’t sure if it was because Dorian didn’t trust him enough to share, or if it was because Dorian was so consumed with anger toward his father, or maybe if it was because he was...ashamed. Embarrassed.

“I know you told me ages ago you and your family are...on bad terms,” Jasper tried that evening as they retired to a dinky little inn within some tiny new village that had cropped up recently, due to the bustling trade route Skyhold had created. They were sharing a room, two beds. Neither of them had it in them to make a suggestive comment. Dorian said nothing to Jasper’s comment. “Is it because you refused to marry? Because you left Tevinter?”

Dorian just looked at him, face placid, eyes unreadable. “That’s part of it. I’m rather tired, however. I think I’ll retire early.”

They spoke no more until morning, and even then it was just a “good morning” over hot porridge and bacon, a few murmured words as they prepared to leave again. Jasper was worried, even if he didn’t want to be. Dorian was never this quiet. Never this...controlled. Dorian was always whipping out some witty, sharp comment. He’d been rather distant for weeks, and now he would barely respond to Jasper. Dorian and his family really had some bad blood between them, didn’t they?

Redcliffe was marginally less depressing this time around, when they arrived later that morning. It had been a while since Jasper had last visited. The Inquisition had really bolstered their infrastructure, and there were less sick people on the street, less hungry people, less crime. It was good to see, but all Jasper could think of was how quiet and withdrawn Dorian seemed. He got more and more pensive, preoccupied, as they approached the village.

“This is it,” Dorian said somberly as they stopped outside an old pub, the one Alexius had met Jasper in, as if he were pointing out a graveyard to Jasper. “The Gull and Lantern.”

They entered warily, disturbed by how empty it was. Even the bartender was gone. Dorian and Jasper exchanged a look, Jasper’s hands hovering over his knives. Maybe no one was up to clean or cook at this time. Maybe this “retainer” had bribed the owner for privacy. No witnesses, this way.

Dorian and Jasper hovered near each other, back to back, both warily surveying the empty tavern. There were a few lanterns lit to keep the dingy interior bright, but that was it. Not a sound. Jasper’s ears pricked as he heard soft footsteps, and he stepped in front of Dorian instinctively, knives halfway out of their scabbards before a man appeared at the entrance to the back corridor.

“Dorian,” the man greeted solemnly, his voice deep and rumbling. Dorian gently pushed Jasper away, nodding to him to let him know to relax, to leave the knives. He faced the man, who had the same coloring as Dorian, if a little darker. And the same ridiculously ostentatious tastes in clothes, if a little less revealing.

“Father,” Dorian replied in a tone better suited to a greeting at a funeral. He had schooled his expression into one of utter calmness and indifference. He looked at Halward Pavus, just a tinge of sadness and anxiety in his eyes. Anger, too. Anger, which he couldn’t keep from the disdainful curl of his lip. “So the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just...what? A smokescreen?”

“Then you were told,” Magister Halward said with a slight tone of annoyance as he approached the two of them, eyes flickering over Jasper briefly. Jasper’s fingers twitched toward his blade, and he told himself to relax. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“Of course not,” Dorian snapped with quiet yet potent vehemence. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and risk being seen with the _dread Inquisitor_. What would people think of this? But what is ‘ _this_ ’, exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” With each question, the volume of his voice grew, until he was very near yelling. He seemed to realize this, and reigned himself in briefly, but his father just sighed with annoyance and disappointment.

“This is how it has always been,” Halward said, shaking his head.

Those words really pissed off Jasper. Jasper wasn’t entirely sure what exactly had gone down with the betrothal and his family and running away. He didn’t know their history, but whatever it was, it was enough to drive a mage of noble birth to the not-very-mage-friendly south, away from the only home he’d ever known. To the Inquisition, which was essentially a suicide mission, anyway. And his dad had the audacity to act as if Dorian were just some petulant teenager having a temper tantrum.

“Why don’t you just tell Dorian whatever the fuck it is you’re here to say, so we can leave?” Jasper spat.

“Yes, Father, tell me what you’re here for,” Dorian agreed, anger saturating his words. “Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger.”

There was alarm in his father’s dark eyes. “Dorian, there’s no need to -”

But Dorian cut him off with a sharp tone, turning to speak to Jasper. “I prefer the company of men. _Exclusively_. My father disapproves.”

Jasper fought away a smirk; not really the time for it. As if Jasper didn’t know how incredibly queer Dorian was. Maybe he hadn’t known he wasn’t interested at all in women, but it wasn’t that shocking. “Am I supposed to be surprised?”

Halward Pavus’ eyes narrowed with disgust. He made a noise in his throat. “I should’ve known, you and this Inquisitor would -”

“No!” Dorian interrupted, slicing his hand through the air with anger. “ _You_ do not get to make those assumptions about him! Jasper is a good man - better than you’ll ever be.”

Jasper blinked, a little taken aback by Dorian’s ardent defense of him. He was rather touched, if he was being honest. But he didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Is being, you know, _queer_ that big of a deal in Tevinter?” Jasper asked.

“Only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard,” Dorian sighed, not looking at Jasper. “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw - every aberration - is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.”

Halward had the decency to look slightly cowed. He averted his eyes from Dorian’s rant about the less pleasant points of Tevinter culture.

“That’s why you left, isn’t it?” Jasper reasoned, trying to keep his voice even to help calm down Dorian.

Dorian sighed heavily and shook his head. “Let’s just go.”

Jasper’s fingers twitched, but this time it wasn’t to reach for his daggers, but to reach for Dorian’s hand. The man looked so despondent, so upset and angry and frustrated, and Jasper felt sad to see it. He wanted to do something to comfort him, something to show him that he didn’t have to be alone in his pain. But Jasper didn’t know how to do that without getting...emotions involved.

“Dorian, wait,” his father pleaded, taking a step toward them.

Dorian whirled on his father in a glimmer of unbridled fury, robes swishing, his body rigid with rage. “Why? So you can spout more convenient lies? _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of a weak mind.’ Those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing _you_ did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to - _change_ me!”

Dorian’s voice broke on those last few words, pain clear as day on his face, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched together. His shoulders fell, his lips twisted. He was trying not to fall apart. Jasper took a step toward him.

“I only did what was best for you,” Halward insisted, hands raised.

“You wanted what was best for _you_!” Dorian countered, jabbing a finger at his father, getting right up in his face. His voice echoed among the rafters, so raw and angry and upset. “For your _fucking_ legacy! Anything for that!”

Dorian took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away, leaning heavily on a table, hands flat on its surface, his head hanging. Jasper approached him carefully, like a wary animal, and touched his back gently, rubbing a soothing circle.

“Let’s go, Dorian,” he said softly. Dorian looked up at him, and there was so much sadness, regret, and anger in his beautiful eyes that Jasper was momentarily breathless. Jasper took a deep, steadying breath. “Or stay and talk to him. It’s your choice, Dorian. I can’t make it for you.”

Dorian straightened up, eyes earnest as he didn’t break eye contact with Jasper. Jasper, for once, didn’t shy away from it, even though it made him feel vulnerable. It was intimate. Too intimate, and Jasper had nothing to protect him. Dorian then turned away and looked at his father. “Tell me why you came.”

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition…” Halward began, shaking his head.

“You didn’t,” Dorian said firmly, holding his anger in check. “I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do. Once, I had a father who would have known that.” Dorian turned away as his father closed his eyes and shook his head. Jasper found himself reaching toward him, but dropped his hand hastily.

“Once, I had a son who trusted me,” Halward called after him. “A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian raised his eyes from the floor. He glanced at his father, then to Jasper. Jasper glanced between them, too, and fixed his eyes on Dorian. There was a moment of quiet while they both stared at each other. “Do what you think is right, Dorian. What your instinct is telling you.”

Dorian looked at his father again. “Wait outside, please?” he asked Jasper. “I’ll scream if I’m ambushed by thugs.”

Jasper reached out and squeezed Dorian’s arm as he brushed past him, heading for the door. He glanced back as he left, watching Dorian approach his father warily. The door slammed shut and Jasper lumbered down the steps, taking a seat on the last one to wait for Dorian. Close enough to be there if he needed him.

Jasper ran a hand over his face, noticing his heart beating wildly. He glanced back toward the tavern. He ran his thumb over his lower lip, wondering of the pain Dorian must’ve experienced. How he always seemed so cheerful despite it all. It was hard to feel like you were chased away by your people. Jasper understood feeling like you had no choice but to run.

***  
It was hours later, the sun beginning to set, before Dorian finally exited the pub. He looked exhausted. His eyes were red and puffy. Jasper rose, limbs stiff, to greet him. Dorian stopped next to him at the bottom of the stairs, and neither of them said anything for a moment. Dorian glanced back at the tavern.

“I just...want to go to bed,” he murmured. “Sleep on this.”

Jasper nodded. “Do you want to stay somewhere in the village? Or camp outside?”

Dorian shook his head. “I don’t care.”

They ended up camping on the outskirts of the village, since there were no other inns and Jasper figured it was probably best if they didn’t stay in the same building as Dorian’s dad. Jasper set up their tents and rustled up some grub, a hare and some veggies to share between them in a rudimentary stew. The only thing Jasper knew how to cook. Still, that put him one up on Dorian, who had never cooked in his life.

They sat around the campfire on a couple of logs as night fell, slurping their stew in silence. Dorian mumbled, “It’s good.” Jasper seriously doubted that, as Dorian only ever disparaged the food of the south.

Jasper looked at him, set aside his bowl. “Do you...want to talk?”

Dorian chewed on a piece of meat in his stew, staring into the fire. “He says we’re too alike, he and I. Too much pride. Once, I would’ve been overjoyed to hear him say that - that we’re alike, I mean. Now I’m not certain. I heard him out. But I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“What exactly did he do to you?” Jasper asked hesitantly.

“He...tried to change me with blood magic. Out of desperation,” Dorian told him solemnly, not meeting his eye. “I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend the rest of my life screaming on the inside. My parents always suspected I had a preference for men. I didn’t keep it particularly quiet. They hated it, but they never said anything about it, because they felt assured that I would make the _right choices_ for their legacy. And in the end, I refused. I had been betrothed to this...frivolous bint since I was a child. I had studied with her at the Circle for a while. She was smart, pretty, and incredibly mean. Just like my mother, honestly. We hated each other instantly.”

Dorian glanced at Jasper, who said nothing, just listened. “I kept putting off the official engagement, the courting that I was expected to do for show. My studies...I always said my studies were so important, that I was making such headway...but her parents got tired of waiting. A wedding date was chosen, without my input. An engagement party was arranged. I...made a scene. That girl was so furious with me, she pulled me out by my ear, just like my mother, and it made me feel so...little. So childish. Like I didn’t matter as a person, just as an accessory. We were both accessories, really, for the glamorous outfit of a powerful couple.

“My father was _furious_. He’d been raising me to take his place as Magister Pavus, one day, of course. But his ambition runs deeper than that. He thinks I could become Archon one day, if I stopped acting like such a child. And if that meant doing a blood ritual, altering my mind, to make me...acceptable, then so be it.”

Jasper’s eyes widened. “That’s horrible, Dorian. I’m sorry.”

Dorian shook his head bitterly, and they sat in silence for a while, just staring into the fire for a while, finishing their stew. After several minutes, Jasper fidgeted, something niggling at the back of his mind. “Who was the ' _he'_ you mentioned back there? When you told your father that _he_ told you blood magic was...bad? You weren’t referring to your father, were you?”

Dorian sighed and let his head hang. “Another mage from the Circle, a few years older than me, absolutely brilliant. We’d worked together on several projects together. We worked very well together. And he was everything I wasn’t - he was genuinely charming, not a shit-eater like me; he was so naturally talented in everything he did, and while he always worked hard, he never struggled with any subject like I did - I can barely heal a papercut; he was a good son, always listened to his parents, who were friends with mine; he was handsome and tasteful. His father had been imprisoned and executed for being caught trying to perform blood magic to kill the Archon. He was vehemently opposed to blood magic, especially after that, always spoke out against it. My parents adored him. Until they found out our relationship was more than simply academic. When his parents found out, they sent him to an aunt in Quarinus, far away from me. When mine found out, they arranged an engagement party behind my back.

“I found my father's plans for me. I left. Blood magic is...unstable. It could have left me a drooling vegetable. To think that he found that risk preferable to scandal...it crushed me. Even if it were successful, I would be a different person. I wouldn’t like that Dorian.”

“Neither would I,” Jasper said, reaching toward Dorian. He placed his hand gently on Dorian’s arm.

Dorian looked down at his hand, then to Jasper’s face. “Thank you for bringing me out here. I don’t know quite how I feel...but it’s something. Some closure, I suppose. Maker knows what you must think of me now, though.”

Jasper scooted closer. “I think you’re still a stupid ‘Vint. One who has a knack for trouble. And you know I rather like trouble.”

The distance between them was shrinking, but Dorian suddenly leapt back like he had been struck with an electric shock. Jasper blinked in surprise as Dorian pulled himself away and stood up suddenly, brushing down his robes. Jasper tried not to feel hurt.

“Anyway, I think it’s time I drink myself into a stupor,” Dorian said with forced neutrality. “Care to join me?”

Of course, Dorian had been sure to pack a bottle or two of whiskey in his saddlebags. Jasper also had his weed, which he took out even though he wasn’t sure Dorian was into drugs at all. Everyone had their own preference for vice. They took a couple of swigs each of whiskey, straight from the bottle, laughing as Jasper dribbled down his front like an idiot.

“Stop fucking laughing,” Jasper gasped through giggles, spilling some of it on purpose on Dorian’s expensive, fancy robes. The mage slid away and cursed, still laughing. “You dumb bitch.”

Dorian snatched back the bottle and took another swallow as Jasper bent his paper loosely around a finger to create a trough and tipped a bit of the ground up herb into the center in a line. He started to roll it up carefully with well-trained fingers, and licked the edge to seal it. He glanced up and saw Dorian watching him curiously, and as he ran his tongue over the edge, Dorian’s eyes followed, dark with lust.

“You ever smoke?” Jasper asked as he took out a match and struck it, lighting the tip of the joint.

Dorian shook his head. “Never really had the opportunity. It’s more difficult to come by in Tevinter, not as popular there, as it interferes with magic. There’s a big fear that it’ll affect the passing of magic in reproduction.”

Jasper snorted, then took a long draw. “I don’t know about that. I do know that I like it more than booze. I feel more...clear-headed smoking than drinking. Here, take a hit.” The smoke seeped out of his mouth as he talked, swirling in pretty shapes before dissipating into the atmosphere.

Dorian took it hesitantly, sniffing disapprovingly. “It smells like a skunk.”

“Yeah, and?” Jasper countered, eyes fluttering as it hit his brain. “Whiskey tastes like antiseptic.”

“Touche,” Dorian agreed, bringing the joint to his lips and breathing in slowly. He immediately started coughing and nearly dropped the joint, smoking spluttering from his mouth. “Maker, that’s awful.”

Jasper was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes, taking the joint from Dorian. “Breathe it into your lungs. Don’t swallow it. Come on, take another hit.”

Dorian accepted it again with a withering glare as Jasper continued to giggle, wiping away tears. He brought it back to his lips and took a deep pull, much better this time, though he still hacked away as he exhaled. Jasper blinked, suddenly aroused. Dorian had made it seem very sexy. The way his lips wrapped around it and his eyes fluttered shut and how the smoke wrapped around him when he exhaled. It made Jasper _very_ alert.

“What?” Dorian asked as he passed it back to Jasper, looking a little confused. Jasper was staring. He looked away quickly, taking back the joint.

“Nothing,” he said, blushing, ignoring his rather rapidly forming hard-on. Jasper quickly took another hit, and then another, before passing it back to Dorian. He didn’t look this time as Dorian puffed on it.

They were both a lot more talkative high than when they were drunk. Dorian kept talking, on and on, about Tevinter and the problems with it and how he wanted to change it. He would get distracted, however, by all the little things he loved about Tevinter, like the progress of magic and the excellent culinary skills. Jasper liked watching him talk about it. At some point, Jasper had laid down on the ground, staring up at the impenetrably dark sky littered with hundreds of pinpricks of stars.

As the conversation lulled, Jasper raised his arm, pointing out one of his favorite constellations, one of the few things he remembered learning with clan Lavellan. “That’s Draconis, that line of stars with the other stars on the side.” Dorian glanced at him and then upward. “Come here, look.” Dorian slid onto the ground with only minimal protest, reclining beside him and getting comfortable. Jasper pointed out the shape again. “See? It’s a dragon in flight.”

Dorian tilted his head this way and that. “I don’t.”

“Gimme your hand,” Jasper said, grabbing it without waiting for Dorian’s permission. He wrapped his hand around Dorian’s as a guide and pointed it up to the sky, tracing the constellation together. “See it now?”

Jasper didn’t notice Dorian staring at him with a mixture of awe and adoration and sharp pain, while Jasper rattled off some of the other common constellations and their stories, pointing out each one in turn. “Perequialis. Some people think it’s an ancient boat of the first race to inhabit Thedas, but I grew up learning it was an aravel. Those are the Dalish land-boats used to travel. There’s Judex. The Sword of Mercy. Dalish just called it a sword. It indicates the meting of justice.”

When the joint was smoked down to just a tiny little stump that they could barely hold onto without burning their fingers, Jasper dug around for his roach clip, feeling a little light headed. He pinched the end of the J in it and continued to smoke it, but Dorian waved away his offers of sharing. It seemed the ‘Vint was as high as he wanted to be.

“What happened to your clan?” Dorian asked suddenly, looking up at Perequialis. “You’re from the city, right?”

Jasper got quiet, took another hit. He sighed it out. “I was a kid. I wandered too far from our camp, stupidly. We were getting ready to leave because of reports of slavers in the area. I slipped through the cracks and went to go play in a nearby meadow. The slavers were lurking about, waiting for elves to wander off from the camp. They nabbed me, of course, and my mom died trying to protect me. She had noticed I was missing and had gone to look for me. Sorry. I’m not good at telling stories. Especially this one.”

Dorian’s hand was warm on his, interlocked on the ground between their bodies. Jasper turned to look at him. In the golden light of the fire, he looked divine, perfect. Like an angel haloed in light. And it stole away Jasper’s breath. He quickly turned to look back at the sky.

“It’s fine, Jasper,” Dorian said, referring to his storytelling skills. “Go on. If you want.”

Jasper took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about my past to anyone.”

Dorian squeezed his hand. “You got to hear all about my shitstorm of a life. Now it’s my turn to hear about yours.”

Jasper huffed out a dry laugh. “If you’re sure. It’s not a fun story.”

“It’s your choice, Jasper,” he said, voice soft. “I’m here to listen.”

Jasper sighed for a long moment. “Well, after I was kidnapped, the slavers headed to the coast, probably to return to Tevinter. There were other elves they’d taken, of course, all beaten into submission. The conditions we were forced into were...horrific. Anyway, the shackles they used to hold me were too big for me. I was seven. The only thing that kept me from running was fear. And then one of the older elves caused a distraction when we were by the docks. The slavers were bartering for passage, and this elf caused a ruckus, and told me to escape, and so I did. I ran deeper into the city, right into the slums and the redlight district.”

“What happened then, in the city? Did you go to the alienage?” Dorian asked, a good, attentive audience as always.

Jasper shook his head sadly. “I wouldn’t have found my way there even if I knew to look for them. I had no clue what an alienage was. I ended up being kidnapped again, but in a much nicer way. No threats, no bloodshed, no being stuffed in a sack. A lady approached me and said I looked hungry. She told me to call her Auntie. She took me back to her house. I remember we went in a back door, straight to the kitchen. I didn’t think much of it then. I later realized that she had done so because she didn’t want me walking in the front door. If you walked in the front door, you would’ve seen a bunch of half-naked men and women, patrons pawing at them, the lights dim to conceal their secrets. You would’ve smelled the heady incense, the scent of booze and weed, the stench of sex. I would’ve heard the fucking and the screaming and the moaning from the private rooms.

“She fed me until I was full,” Jasper continued. “I ate so much fucking food. I hadn’t eaten in days. And then she asked me if I could do a favor for her, in return for helping me. I, of course, agreed. I wasn’t yet used to the lies and manipulation of the world. She asked me if I was a boy or a girl. She couldn’t tell. Auntie said I was too pretty to be a boy, too thin and lanky to be a girl. At first, I just cleaned. She wasn’t going to whore out a seven-year-old. She had some decency, or so she claimed. People would’ve paid her good money for me then. Real freaks. Disgusting perverts. She said she wanted to save me. She did, however, make me clean the place, totally naked, when certain clients wanted a peek. But she never let them touch me. As if that were a _kindness_.” The bitterness in Jasper’s words shocked even himself. He usually never got this vivid about his tale of woe, his tragic backstory. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the high emotions of the day, maybe it was just Dorian’s reassuring hand in his. But he couldn’t stop talking.

“When I turned eleven, things changed. I was much taller now - for an elf, of course - and Auntie said I’d gotten even prettier. That I would attract men and women with my looks. By then, obviously, I’d figured out that I was in a whorehouse, and what my future held. But I just ignored that fact. Auntie fed me and clothed me, and in exchange all I had to do was clean. It was hard work for a kid, but I was scared to be out on the street again. But when I turned eleven, she started having me...having me take clients. She called it bed-working. Kinda fucked up. Like, if you’re gonna whore out a kid, at least be upfront and honest. Just call it fucking. Whoring.” Jasper took a deep breath, pressing his eyes shut. “ _Fuck_. I’m sorry.”

Dorian stroked the back of Jasper’s hand with his thumb. “It’s okay. There’s nothing you have to apologize for. You can stop, if you want. No pressure.”

Jasper took a breath. “I want to tell you, though. It’s something I ignore, but I...I should talk about it more.” In a hoarse whisper, he admitted, “I will never, ever be able to forget my first...client.” Dorian squeezed his hand so hard it hurt, and Jasper squeezed back just as hard. It made him feel safe. He could confront the horrors of his past safely right now. They couldn’t hurt him, not with Dorian beside him. Once, Jasper had felt the same way about Augustus. “As much as I try, I can’t forget his face. His clothes. His body. His gross little dick. He wasn’t gentle. He was so...harsh. He hurt me. He tore me apart. Fucking Andraste, I will never forget the pain. I remember Auntie told me that whatever he did, I was not to scream or cry, because if I did, then he would leave without paying, and then...then she would _really_ give me something to scream and cry about. Honestly, nothing she did could have possibly been worse than what that man did to me.”

Jasper didn’t realize he was crying until Dorian produced a handkerchief from his pocket and started dabbing at his cheeks, gently wiping away his tears. “It’s okay,” Dorian insisted. “You can cry all you want now. You can scream if you want. You’re far away from there, Jasper. You’re safe here.”

Jasper let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. He clung to Dorian’s hand like a lifeline. “I wasn’t allowed out on the floor, as we called it, until I could pass for an adult. Or at least old enough that nobody cared. Before, my clients had been sent to me, booked through Auntie. But then, once I was fourteen, unless someone cared enough to book me specifically, I had to go out on the floor every night and seduce people. If I didn’t, then I didn’t bring in money, which meant Auntie was feeding me and clothing me and housing me for nothing, and she would beat the ever-living shit out of me, threaten to kill me. But she would never release me. That would be a mercy.

“I got good at it. I had to. Adaptation is really one of my only skills. I mean, look at me now, the fucking Inquisitior - why? Why am I the Inquisitor? Why do people think I’m _good_ at it? Because I had to adapt to it, to survive. Without the Inquisition, Corypheus would find me and kill me so fucking quickly. Just to clarify, I did not become the Inquisitor out of some sort of altruistic self-sacrifice or sense of duty. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.

“Anyway, I was one of her top whores by the end of it. Special treatment - I got nicer clothes, nicer food. It was all ash to me. But that’s how I met Augustus. He was a criminal who had run away from Tevinter - a soporati. He was part of a whole gang, the Red Buzzards. Auntie owed them money, a lot of money, and refused to pay up, and she - “ Jasper chuckled, shaking his head, no humor on his face. “She was trying to blackmail their leader! Bad idea. Gangs don’t deal with debts and blackmail kindly. She had worn out her usefulness, and the Buzzards decided that it was time for a different brothel to rise to the top. They were going to whack her, but she knew that, and she had hired guards patrolling the brothel twenty-four-seven, and they were _very_ well-paid, and had all the whores to choose from after their shift. She stopped leaving the whorehouse. She became so fucking paranoid.

“Then Augustus came in one day, pretending to be a customer - Auntie didn’t recognize him. And you would never suspect him of being in a gang, not looking like a literal angel. He would never have had to go to a brothel for company, though. He was beautiful. Like the sun. Golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes. He was so charismatic and funny and likeable. It was like the sun itself was in love with him and suffused him and all his actions and words. He was glorious. He figured the best way to get close enough to Auntie to kill her would be through her girls. And boys. And he chose me. I had always thought _I_ was the one to choose _him_ , thought I had managed to seduce him with my wiles. But I was wrong. He was always the one in control, no matter the situation. And I was an easy mark.”

There was a ghost of a smile on Jasper’s lips, and Dorian felt a surprising, unprecedented surge of jealousy. He quickly tamped it down, wondering where Augustus was now.

“I was sixteen when I first met him,” Jasper continued, eyes fluttering open as he glanced over at Dorian, who hadn’t looked away from Jasper since he started his tale. “He was twenty-three. Maybe that should’ve set off alarm bells or something, but I was quite taken with him. The first appointment we had, all we did was talk. He said he just needed someone to vent to, no sex. I’d had clients like that before, but none as enrapturing and beautiful as him. I became enthralled with him. He was this...brooding, sensitive yet tough bad boy, gorgeous and lovely but rough around the edges. He was worldly. He was kind to me. He started using pet names for me when he would see me, ones that reflected the things I’d shared with him rather than being generic, or about my elfiness. Like, he didn’t call me sweetie, or nymph. He called me…” Jaspe stopped and swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to talk. “He called me Birdie. Because of my affinity for music and singing. I know it sounds weird, but...I liked it. A lot. I felt like I mattered to him.

“I fell in love with him hard and fast. I don’t know what I was thinking - that he would be able to save me, or something. I don’t know. I told him how desperately I wanted to leave to be reunited with my clan. We struck a deal. I would kill Auntie, remove their problem and he would rescue me, help me get back to my people. And I fucking believed him,” Jasper seethed, resentment and anger making his jaw clench. After all these years, Jasper still pinpointed that moment as the one where he signed him life over to the devil. He couldn’t even imagine what would’ve happened if he hadn’t done it, if maybe he’d still be stuck in that brothel. It was the moment that gave him power for the first time in his life, and it was also the moment that took it all away.

“He’d been lying from the start. I killed Auntie. My first kill. I threw up so fucking much when I did it. Then I went to meet Augustus at the location he’d disclosed to me, with her money and proof of her death. However, _someone_ tipped off the guards and I was arrested. Thrown in prison. That was worse than Auntie’s house. There was no mercy from the other inmates. The guards, too. Sometimes they just watched. Sometimes they would...they would do it too. It was a month that I spent in that place. And then, in the middle of the night, as I sobbed myself to sleep awaiting my pending execution, Augustus appeared. I remembered how he looked in the dim moonlight in the prison. He was like an angel. He broke me out. He said that they had had a mole, but that he kept his promises, and he would help me. He just wanted to make sure I would be loyal to him, and only him, and trust no others. He wanted me to see how powerless I was.

“One of the inmates noticed and started a riot. Augustus killed him, and the guards, so easily. So _easily_ and quickly. He protected me. I remember that. One of the guards made a grab for me, and Augustus put himself between us, and he got stabbed. After that, I was bound to him. I couldn’t leave him. I fixed up his wound and we escaped together, and he held my hand and brushed back my hair and told me he was so sorry about me getting arrested and that someone as beautiful as I didn’t deserve to suffer like that.” Jasper closed his eyes with the memory of that earnest look in Augustus’s eyes. That lie. “I was smitten. I told him I wanted to stay with him. Begged him to let me stay with him. I told him I didn’t care about my clan anymore, that they had never looked for me after I was taken, that I just wanted to be with him because he cared. He manipulated me so fucking easily, and I let him. He became...a knight in shining armor to me. Entirely flawless, a perfect hero. I was so stupid.

“I gave myself to him. He was so gentle that first time. But despite it all, I had a taste for roughness, and I was rather insatiable. Which you know, of course. We had a very physical relationship, and I had thought that that physicality had bred familiarity and emotional intimacy. He had me fooled that it had. I don’t think he was ever capable of feeling real love. And there I was, absolutely enraptured by him. He was my first love. I gave him everything. I would do anything and everything for him. I mean, hello, I fucking killed for him. He trained me how to be a rogue. How to fight dirty. How to steal without getting caught, how to cheat at cards, how to talk my way into and out of anything and everything. For the first time in my life, I was free, Dorian, and it felt so good, even if I was bound to Augustus. I did everything and anything I was given the opportunity to do. It was glorious, and really quite awful, too. Maker. It’s a wonder I didn’t die in a crackhouse. Or with a glass tube up my ass. Augustus’s idea, not mine. I did anything he asked of me. I thought I was free, but I wasn’t, not even the slightest bit. I just had a new master.

“Anyway...I hadn’t realized just how controlling he was, at first. He wouldn’t let me go out without him. Every mission was done together. He didn’t like me hanging out with the other Buzzards without him. I thought he was just protective. But he didn’t want me to do things without his approval. He would always be hovering just over my shoulder. And then I found out he was fucking other people. We had a fight about it when I confronted him about it. He acted like I was overreacting, that I was digging for dirt on him, that I didn’t trust him. He fucking _threw_ me against a wall. I broke my ribs and had to see a healer. He was all fake-apologetic about it. Being like, ‘I’m sorry, Birdie, but I just love you so much, I couldn’t control my anger.’ ‘My love for you is blinding - I didn’t realize what I was doing.’ ‘I love you so much that it bursts out of me, that’s why I fuck other people behind your back.’”

Jasper took a deep breath and turned to look at Dorian. Dorian looked sad, full of sympathy. He rubbed his thumb over Jasper’s knuckles. “Maker. I can’t even imagine what you think of me now.”

“I think you’re a brave man,” Dorian insisted, breath a ghost across Jasper’s skin. They were still laying down on the ground, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you did what you had to do in order to survive. Physically and psychologically.”

Jasper laughed weakly. “You haven’t even heard the worst of it. Because yeah, it gets worse. I started to rebel against Augustus. I had been a sycophant. But that was changing. I was now starting to see the cracks and flaws in his personality. He was a mean, controlling person. He hurt others for no reason. He just liked to exercise control over everyone he possibly could. He wanted to be the head honcho of the gang, but he wasn’t strong enough. He was grooming me to help him take over. I was so angry...and so hurt and betrayed...I was avoiding him, I wouldn’t sleep with him, I started doing hard drugs. He gave me a bit more freedom, but, like, it wasn’t real. He just got better at hiding when he watched me, so I felt freer. And I knew it. I knew he was watching me - elf ears, you know? I could hear him walking around in another room when I would hang with the other Buzzards and get smacked with them. When I was at the brothel, I smoked weed with the other whores. It was Auntie’s only approved drug, since it didn’t ruin our bodies. With the Buzzards...I got really bad.

“Augustus didn’t care. I think that he thought that if he gave me this ‘freedom’ to interact with other Buzzards, to form camaraderie with them, I would mellow out and forget how he had hurt me. And I did, kind of. I got comfortable being around him again, but I refused to sleep with him. Not after how he had treated me. But he didn’t like that. He got angry about it. And then he...he forced himself on me. He said it was because we needed each other, that he loved me. When he said that, I snapped. I killed him. The gang turned against me - they didn’t realize how controlling and vile he was. They had years of rapport with him. I was the newbie who cozied up to a comrade, then killed him. I fled. I had to fucking cross the Waking Sea to escape their wrath.

“I ended up in the Denerim alienage, formed a new gang. A small one. More like mercenaries. Hired thugs. Muscle. Kind of like the Bull’s Chargers, but less official, more seedy, more drugs and whores, more risky operations. I’ve always been a big fan of Iron Bull, though. He’s kind of legendary. I wanna fuck him, if I’m being honest, but he pushes me away. I don’t know why. Anyway. Irrelevant. I had new comrades, new friends. We lived together, ate and drank together. It was wonderful. I got clean...ish. And then the Conclave happened. Me and one of my companions got arrested for robbing pilgrims on their way to the Conclave. I managed to escape, and, well, you know the rest. She’s probably dead. Impossible to identify the remains left in the dungeons of the Temple. The rest of my gang...don’t know where they are now. Probably returned to Denerim.”

Dorian was quiet for a little while, but he kept Jasper’s hand in his. “You did what you had to do, Jasper,” he insisted. “I don’t know if I would’ve been strong enough to kill someone I was so close to, even if killing them meant freedom from abuse.”

Jasper blinked the tears from his eyes. “Dorian. You’re such a good man. You know that?” He leaned in to kiss him, but Dorian pulled away, like two magnets of a kind, repelling. Jasper felt his breath whoosh out with sudden, sharp pain. Dorian had rejected his advance. Something that had been happening with increasing frequency in the last few weeks, but which now hurt more after spilling his guts to Dorian. Was this what Dorian really thought? He said he thought Jasper was brave, but who would want to fuck someone so damaged and unhinged, with so much baggage?

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said quickly, looking away, voice thick. “I should go to bed. You should, too. We’ve both had a long day.”

Jasper nodded. He couldn’t blame Dorian. He had no doubt that it wasn’t just Jasper’s ugly past that had turned him off, but the emotional bond that Jasper had thought had been forming between them, slowly but surely. No one alive knew these details of Jasper’s life, not all of them, anway. Leliana knew some of it. She didn’t know the emotional aspect of it. Dorian did. It obviously would scare him off. Jasper nodded again and stood up too quickly, nearly falling, but shoved off Dorian when the mage tried to help him. He stumbled into his tent, throwing him onto his bedroll with such force that it hurt. He cried quietly so that Dorian wouldn’t hear. The mage wouldn’t want to witness more emotional outpouring.

Eventually, the sounds of Dorian putting out the fire and sorting out the campsite and getting ready for bed lulled Jasper to sleep. He wished he were a dwarf so he wouldn’t have to experience the dreams. The painful memories that plagued him even in sleep. But his wishes went unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry :((((( You think their relationship is going to go up from here...but it ain't. Welcome aboard the struggle bus.
> 
> Anyway. You are wonderful, thank you for reading.


	14. Fucking Tal-Vashoth

The ride back to Skyhold was filled with tension. Dorian was curt and not at all talkative. Jasper was aloof and flippant. It was as if they both wanted to forget that that entire day ever happened. Their memories weren’t the clearest, but Jasper distinctly remembered Dorian pulling away from him, not once, but twice. Jasper tried to ignore the pain that had struck him that night.

But it was fine. It had to be fine. Jasper refused to read more into it. Sharing details of your past was awkward, sometimes, and maybe it made Dorian feel vulnerable, and maybe he needed this distance to lick his wounds. Jasper had been there before, for sure. Things would sort themselves out, eventually.

It was for the best.

They’d been back in Skyhold a few days, and had barely seen each other. They’d postponed their lessons for the moment so they could both have a break, some breathing room, some time to metabolize what had happened in Redcliffe. It was for Dorian’s sake, really, if Jasper was being honest.

Jasper overheard rather raised voices from the library when he passed it one evening as he headed to the battlements for a brisk walk to sort his thoughts. He paused, listening to Dorian’s vibrant voice arguing in a hushed tone with a strained Orlesian accent. Jasper paused, glancing up through the circular tower to the library above. Mother Giselle, perhaps? Checking in to see that Dorian had gone to see his father?

Perhaps surprised that Dorian had returned at all?

Jasper changed directions and headed up the tower’s curving steps to the library, footsteps near silent as he approached the arguing duo. When she saw him, Mother’s Giselle’s mouth clamped shut and she looked embarrassed, averting her eyes with shame.

“Oi, what’s the deal?” Jasper said, folding his arms as he looked between the two of them. “Do we need a time out?”

Dorian cut a scowl at Jasper, as if not entirely happy at the Inquisitor’s arrival. “It seems the revered mother is concerned over my ‘undue influence’ over you,” Dorian spat angrily.

“It _is_ just concern,” Mother Giselle insisted. “Your Worship, you must understand how this appears.”

“You might need to spell it out, my dear,” Dorian said with a biting edge as Jasper remained quiet, his cold eyes jumping between the two of them. “He likes to play oblivious.”

“This _man_ is of Tevinter,” Mother Giselle said plainly as she gestured at Dorian, and Jasper snorted. He knew that, he’d had an issue with it, but he was getting over it. More or less. He still hated Tevinter, but he was starting to tolerate individuals from that country. “His presence at your side, traveling with you, teaching you - the rumors alone…”

Jasper giggled, rolling his eyes. “What, you think he’s brainwashing me with...sex magic, or something equally ridiculous and sensational? Because I’ve heard the rumors myself, Mother Giselle; I am rather skilled at eavesdropping, you know. I’d be a shit rogue if I weren’t. Yeah, we’re fucking, but that’s it, not that it’s any of your fucking business - or anyone else’s. But if it matters _that much_ to you to know who I like to fuck, then you can go to Leliana for a complete list. Be prepared for quite a bit of reading.

“But your behavior is unacceptable,” Jasper continued, tone biting and cold. “Verbally assaulting a member of the Inquisition like this. Dorian has done more than his fair share for the Inquisition. He’s saved my life, at great risk to his own and to his country, over and over again. He deserves our respect, at the very least, and you should remember that the next time you choose to lecture him over stuff and nonsense. He has as much a place here as everyone else.”

Mother Giselle sighed through her nose, eyes steely, sufficiently chastised. “I...see. I meant no disrespect, Your Worship. I humbly beg your forgiveness, both of you.” She bowed her head at the two of them, but Jasper sensed no true apology, just the motions of one, the desire to smooth things over, as she calmly walked away.

Jasper glanced over at the mage. “Dorian…”

He sighed. “I’d like to be alone for a bit, if you please. Inquisitor.”

“Don’t start with that,” Jasper brushed aside rather bluntly. “With that title bullshit. You’ve literally had your tongue in my asshole, so I think we’re beyond frivolous titles. Do the rumors bother you?”

Dorian pursed his lips, and Jasper thought it was to keep from laughing at Jasper’s disgusting, brusque language. But Dorian seemed to be chewing over his response before answering. “I don’t care what people say. After all, you never know your own reputation until someone tells it to your face. However, I think it would be best...if we...perhaps if we put this on pause for a little while.”

Jasper nodded, ignoring the little jab of pain in his chest. “I respect that. Don’t need anyone getting the wrong idea about me, that I’m some sort of monogamous, boring person.” He patted Dorian on the back, maybe not noticing, maybe ignoring the flash of hurt in the mage’s eye. “Go take the afternoon off. And let me know if anyone else attacks you like that, verbally or otherwise.”

Dorian huffed, but didn’t reply, and Jasper didn’t wait up for him to come up with some witty comeback. He left him behind and returned to his quarters to delve into the correspondence he now had to deal with.

***  
Cullen had a date for their march to Adamant Fortress: in two weeks’ time, they would begin their trek. The nobles were eager to pour money into their coffers, and trade was steady along the mountain pass leading to Skyhold. Cullen was nearly excited with how well-outfitted their army would be by the end of those two weeks. Jasper was nervous, though. He didn’t know what to expect at all. His anxiety was piled upon with endless meetings and conversations with the visiting nobles and their dignitaries.

So much still needed to be hammered out. Jasper was most worried about the team that would accompany him during the assault. They had no clue what awaited them, and they had to be prepared for everything. Aside from Grey Wardens, demons, and blood magic, they were riding blind. The blueprints on Adamant Fortress were weathered and incomplete, the scouts couldn’t get close enough to find out anything worth note. It was a lot of nervousness for Jasper.

Jasper was waiting for Dorian in his quarters for their daily lesson, a welcomed reprieve from the nonstop meetings and the bullshit. He watched as the clocks ticked away, the hour of their lesson passing by. Jasper glanced around nervously, jiggling his leg, then got up from his chair, and glanced out the balcony, but he couldn’t see all of the courtyard. He closed the balcony doors behind him and headed down the stairs, soft, worn leather boots padding nearly silently on the stone floors.

He spared a brief wave to Varric standing by the hearth before continuing through the rotunda, ignoring Solas entirely, and up the winding staircase to the library: the only place Jasper thought Dorian might be. He would haunt the tavern and occasionally the gardens, but most reliably he was found in the full-to-bursting library, probably complaining about the newly hired and very talkative librarian, Ned.

And there he was, sitting in his well-loved, grand, cushioned, wing-back chair, absorbed entirely in a book. Or so it seemed. But his eyes were not moving. They were glued to one single spot on the page, and Jasper wasn’t sure he was seeing the book at all as he sat there, one arm propped on the arm of the chair, hand covering his mouth, idly twirling the end of his mustache. Lost in thought.

Jasper crept amongst the stacks and rows of books, the old wooden slats of the floor never revealing his presence via creak or groan. Jasper didn’t mean to sneak; it was simply habit at this point. “Dorian?” he said tentatively, eyeing the ‘Vint as he jumped in surprise, nearly dropping his book. “You alright? You missed our lesson.”

“Ah - did I?” Dorian asked, jumping up and acting absentminded as he closed the book on his lap and set it on the table beside him, knocking over the cold cup of tea there. It shattered, so loud in the quiet library, the ravens in the rafters taking off suddenly with caws of displeasure. Dorian jumped to his feet and waved his hand, and the shards leapt back together to reform the tea cup perfectly, perched on the edge of the side table. The liquid, however, was seeping into the wood, a spreading stain. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you okay?” Jasper asked, taking a step closer, eyebrows knitted in concern. “It’s not like you to be forgetful.”

Dorian offered a terse smile. “Slipped my mind. I’m perfectly fine, however, thank you.”

Jasper furrowed his brow. “Well, we can start the lesson now, I’ll have dinner sent up. Gives me a good excuse not to interact with the nobles.”

“Ah, well, that is…” Dorian stammered and trailed off. Jasper blinked. He’d never heard Dorian at a loss for words, except when Jasper had his fingers around the mage’s dick. It was unusual to hear in this context. “I, ahem, I’m not feeling well.”

Dorian pushed past Jasper, bumping his shoulder as he did, and hurried away down the stairs. Jasper stared after him in shock, scoffing with disbelief. He shook his head. “You’re shitting me,” he muttered under his breath. Jasper took a deep breath that should’ve been stabilizing, but instead it just made him more resentful and pissed off. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t sought Dorian out for some stress-relieving, even if he had requested to put things on hold. With Adamant hanging over his head and meetings of the impending siege taking up every moment of his day, he was rather anxious most of the time. He needed to relieve this stress if he was going to maintain his sanity.

No one else was in the library, except for Ned. Everyone else would be gathering in the hall for dinner. Jasper leaned on the railing and watched him carrying a stack of books in his big hands, his long, dark hair hanging around his face in curtains as he hummed to himself.

“Hey, Ned,” Jasper said, startling the tall, gawky man. He was rather pale, but had startlingly gorgeous, wide eyes the color of the ocean. The librarian dropped the entire stack of books he was carrying as he jumped at Jasper’s sudden greeting, then scrambled to retrieve them all, a deep blush on his high, pale cheekbones.

“I-I-Inquisitor!” he squeaked. “My apologies! I didn’t see you approaching. I’m not usually this clumsy - I would never drop your precious books like this - oh, what Master Pavus would say -”

“Don’t talk about him,” Jasper said sharply as he bent to help him pick up the books. “He’s kind of on my shitlist currently. What’re these books about?”

Jasper peered at the covers, all identical, as Ned let out a much put-upon sigh. “They’re all copies of Master Tethras’ novel, _Hard in Hightown_. We have twenty-four copies of it, technically, although people keep running off with copies without signing them out properly, and I can’t go around hunting down these books - “

He cut himself off suddenly, looking shyly up at Jasper through his hair, embarrassed. “Sorry, Inquisitor. I doubt you came here to hear me rant about the barbarians who don’t check books out properly. I appreciate your help with helping me pick these up.”

They both straightened up, setting the half-dozen books on a side table. Jasper took the opportunity to step closer to Ned, and Ned took an awkward step back. Jasper walked the librarian backwards into a bookcase. Ned was still holding a book in both hands between them, long white fingers splayed over the cover. Jasper took it from his hand wordlessly and set it on the table to their side.

“Ned, I’ll be very straightforward,” Jasper said in a low, husky voice, maintaining direct eye contact with him. “I wanna fuck you. Are you okay with that?”

Ned blinked, positively mystified, but nodded sharply, his inky hair falling into his face. Jasper gave a crooked smirk and pushed the librarian’s hair back with a hand. Jasper ran his thumb over Ned’s pouty lower lip. “Verbal consent is very important, Ned.”

“Y-yes,” Ned all but squeaked. He was beet red, his adam’s apple bobbing as Jasper let his hand trail down Ned’s throat.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

***  
Jasper ignored the little guilt demon that plagued his thoughts afterwards. He had nothing to be guilty of. He’d been bottoming for Dorian for months; it felt good to fuck someone else, to be inside someone else, to top again. True, he’d had his little interlude with Hawke, but he’d be lying if he said his sexual preference wasn’t a little skewed towards men. They were so much _tighter_. Maybe he felt guilty because they’d fucked on Dorian’s chair. The mere thought of it had Jasper blushing, wishing he could do the same with Dorian, but it was so blatantly obvious Dorian was avoiding him, even if it were for the best.

Was this all because of what Jasper had shared with him about his own past? Had it scared Dorian off? Jasper wouldn’t blame him if it did, he just wished that Dorian would say something instead of just cutting him off. It was even worse now with the friendship they’d slowly formed. Jasper hated to admit it, but he valued Dorian’s friendship, and this sudden avoidance did smart a bit. He’d thought Dorian _wanted_ to listen to him, and he didn’t think Dorian would _judge_ him based on his past.

Or maybe it was because Dorian was uncomfortable after Jasper witnessed his own debacle. His dad. His past. His struggles with his homosexuality and living as who he was meant to be. Jasper _got_ that, though. To some extent. He didn’t get why Dorian would try running from him now that it was all in the open. Obviously, he felt vulnerable. But Jasper would never judge him, he must know that.

Either way, Jasper had no intentions of pushing Dorian if he could help it. If Dorian was going to be such a little bitch about it, Jasper had no problem with letting him mope.

“You’re distracted,” Ned remarked as he straightened his robes, his voice hesitating, unsure.

Jasper glanced at him and was cut with guilt again. Ned was such an innocent sort of dude, even if he didn’t act like it during sex - a surprising find. It felt wrong to be using him to release his own resentment. Jasper shrugged at him, then pulled the librarian closer by the edges of his robes. “I am. Don’t worry about it. You wouldn’t like to hear my thoughts right now.”

“You’re thinking about Master Pavus?” Ned hit the nail on the head and Jasper flinched slightly at being called out so easily.

“Now that’s how rumors get started,” Jasper snapped, sorting his hair back into place, using a pane of darkened glass as a mirror.

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, I didn’t mean - “

Jasper waved him off. “Like I said. Don’t worry about it. It’s not your business.” Jasper turned and grabbed Ned by the neck of his robes, pulling him down and giving him a searing, lingering kiss. “Have a good night.”

He left without glancing backwards, guilt gnawing away at his guts. Especially when he passed Dorian eating dinner. Their eyes locked briefly and Jasper sped his pace up, covering his neck where Ned had left a hickey. Jasper fixed his eyes on the door to his quarters, but a visiting, surprisingly maskless noblewoman stepped into his path to stop him, her voluminous skirts preventing him from swerving to get around her. Other than the lack of mask, she was dressed in the style of Orlais.

“Inquisitor!” she greeted enthusiastically, her shrill voice rather grating. Marcher accent, he noticed. “What a pleasure to see you! You seem so often to be stuck in meetings and locked away in your quarters, and I have so desired to meet you. Please, do sit beside me, I’m dying for a good dinner partner.”

“I really -” Jasper was cut off by a sharp, deadly glance from Josephine. It practically burned a hole through his forehead. “Of course, my lady.”

Jasper dropped his hand from his neck and the woman extended her hand to him. Jasper rolled his eyes as he took it and pressed his lips to it, then pulled out the chair the woman had been previously occupying. He plopped himself into it, much to the amusement of Cullen, who seldomly joined them for meals, and to the horror of Josephine, on his other side. The noblewoman seemed at a slight loss, but she sat herself down in the other seat beside Jasper, valiantly rolling with the punches.

“Inquisitor, this is Lady Arabella Georgiana Bayart, daughter of one of our staunchest supporters, Lord Frederick Bayart of Ostwick,” Josephine introduced. “Her brother, Klaus, is here as well. Somewhere.”

“Ostwick?” Jasper asked, turning to Lady Arabella. “No shit. I’m from Ostwick.”

Arabella’s green eyes were bright and glittering. “It is a delightful place, no? Though I’ve been in school in Orlais for the past several years, unfortunately the disrest has caused my parents to worry enough to call me home.”

“Yeah, but it’s Orlais, so is it really a shame?” Jasper asked as he chugged his glass of wine and poured another. Good shit, pulled out specially for the fancy nobles.

Lady Arabella laughed musically. Jasper was trying to gauge her age. She had to be eighteen, right? “You are not wrong, Inquisitor. The tiny cakes can only woo one for so long. Eventually, the tripe they call entertainment wears thin.”

“That almost sounds unladylike,” Jasper snarked. “Careful. Our lady ambassador may tell Daddy Dearest.”

Josephine rolled her eyes. She was on what was definitely not her first glass of wine for the evening. Likely not the second or third either. Jasper’s presence tended to do that to her. “I am not as uptight as you seem to think I am, Jasper.”

“Perish the thought,” he said, turning to look at her.

Lady Arabella gasped, clapping a delicate hand to her mouth. “Maker! Inquisitor, do my eyes deceive me? Or is that a love-bite on your neck? Are you romancing someone, Inquisitor? Do you have a secret paramour?”

Jasper clapped his hand back to his neck, blushing, trying to cover up the bruise and hoping not too many people heard Lady Arabella’s frivolous exclamation. He looked down the table and saw Dorian watching him, something unreadable in his expression. Jasper’s mouth fell open, but he wasn’t sure what words wanted to come out of his mouth. He watched in horror as Dorian rose swiftly and marched from the table. Jasper rose to go after him, but Josephine’s viselike grip on his arm kept him rooted to the chair.

“Do not make a scene, Inquisitor,” Josephine whispered very seriously. “I do not want to clean up _that_ mess.”

Jasper nodded in fear and sat back in his seat. This would be a very long dinner.

***  
Thankfully, Jasper had a small reprieve from endless meetings in the War Room and interminable dinner conversations with nobles. Not to mention a break from Dorian’s cold glowering. As if Jasper had done something _wrong_.

Jasper had been watching the Iron Bull teach Krem a new technique in the sparring grounds of the courtyard, shocked that Krem could really hold his own against the hulking strength of Iron Bull. Bull noticed Jasper watching, even though he was standing in Bull’s blindspot, and waved him over.

“Boss, good to see ya,” Bull greeted with a nod, stretching. “I got a letter from my contacts with the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red. The Ben-Hassrath do not like Corypheus. Or his Venatori. And they _really_ don’t like this red lyrium.”

“They can join the club,” Jasper remarked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Bull chuckled. “Yeah. Well. They’re willing to work with us. With you, boss. The qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.”

Jasper’s eyebrows shot up. “The qunari don’t do alliances, I thought.”

“Ordinarily, they don’t,” Iron Bull said, nodding, dropping back into an offensive position with Krem. “My people have never made a full-blown alliance with a foreign power before. This would be a big step. They’ve found a massive red-lyrium shipping operation out on the Storm Coast.”

Krem lowered his shield and glanced at Jasper. “They want us to hit it together. Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action.”

Iron Bull took Krem’s momentary distraction to bash him with his shield, which Krem barely blocked, sending him sprawling backwards. “Did you see _that_?” Iron Bull asked, shaking his head. “Go get some water.”

Krem clambered back to his feet, rubbing the back of his head - maybe because of pain, maybe because of embarrassment. Jasper watched him grumble as he stomped away. Then Bull turned to Jasper. “They don’t wanna tip off the smugglers, of course, so no army. A small outfit. You, me, my chargers, maybe some backup.”

Jasper pursed his lips and studied Bull. “You’re okay with this? You sound...less than utterly enthusiastic.”

Iron Bull rubbed the back of his neck. “I am okay with this, honestly. It’s just...been a while. I’m used to them being...over there.”

Jasper nodded sagely. “I get that, I guess. I wouldn’t want to see my people, not after all this time.”

“Yeah, but you also hold a lot of resentment toward your people,” Bull explained evenly. “I don’t. I’m just...used to how my life is right now.”

Jasper took a breath, released it. “Well, I would be tickled pink to ally with the qunari to defeat Corypheus.”

Iron Bull laughed. “Good. I’ll pass on the message to Cullen and Red. We’ll set up the meeting whenever you’re ready.”

“The sooner, the better,” Jasper admitted. “I need to get the fuck out of Skyhold soon, or I might go crazy.”

And so, two days later, they had left for the Storm Coast. Jasper liked travelling with the Chargers, even if it struck him with an incredible amount of nostalgia for his old days as a bandit. The camaraderie, the drinking, the cussing. It was so different than travelling with Solas or Cassandra. It was fun. It was easygoing. Jasper, for a little while, at least, didn’t feel like the Inquisitor.

Bull’s contact was to meet them on the crest of a cliff overlooking the raging sea below. It wasn’t too hard to find him; he was the only idiot stupid enough to camp near the coast in this weather. It was pouring rain, slicking Jasper’s hair to his face, dripping into his eyes, and the roaring wind chilled him to the bone through his leather armor.

An elf strode out of the tent when he heard them approach, a smile on his face as he greeted Bull as “Hissrad.” He was skinny, even for an elf, with pixie-ish features - sharp, thin nose, pointed chin, narrow eyes. His brown hair was unkempt, a long, messy mullet that whipped about in the wind and rain.

“Gatt!” Iron Bull greeted with obvious pleasure. “Last I heard, you were still in Seheron!”

“I was,” Gatt revealed, nodding. “They finally decided I had calmed down enough to be let out into the real world again.”

“Gatt, this is the Inquisitor,” Bull introduced. “Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron, a few years back.”

Gatt stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting. Jasper took it, shaking firmly, trying to size up this elf who must’ve been a convert to the Qun. Sometimes it really shocked him that there were many followers of the Qun who were not of the qunari species. “Pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work.”

Jasper shrugged, grinning. “So nice to hear my friends say good things about me in their secret spy reports. Not that any of this has been easy, since most of Thedas prefers to sit with their thumbs up their asses.”

“We’re in this together,” Gatt said, glancing up to Iron Bull. “The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the influence of this Venatori cult.”

A few months ago, Jasper would’ve jumped on the shit-talking Tevinter wagon with no problem. But if it produced people as good as Krem and Dorian, it surely couldn’t be entirely worth destruction like the qunari desired, right? Then again, it also produced people like Dorian’s father, who was willing to risk his son’s health in order to make him straight; and people like Corypheus and his Venatori, who were power hungry and genocidal. Dorian’s words of how Tevinter was flawed, but redeemable, resonated in Jasper’s ears uncomfortably, and he felt unsettled now.

He wondered what Dorian would say, if he were there. But Jasper had left him behind in Skyhold for this foray.

“Well, we’ve got to stop this shipment of red lyrium from making it to Minrathous,” Jasper said, changing the topic as much as he could.

“With this stuff, the ‘Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks. We could lose Seheron...and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Gatt said, nodding. “Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We need to eliminate the Venatori so that the dreadnought can come in and take care of the smuggler ship.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Jasper said with a shrug. “Bull?”

Bull shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I’ve never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for shit to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It’s risky.”

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt challenged Iron Bull. Bull frowned.

“I’ve dealt with worse odds,” Jasper said lightly, shifting his weight from foot to foot restlessly. “Let’s get a move on, yeah?”

Gatt nodded. “My scouts found two potential spots where the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore. We’ll need to hit both at once to cover our bases.”

“Boss, I’ll stick with you,” Bull decided. “Krem can lead the Chargers.”

Jasper nodded, glancing to Sera and Vivienne and the small complement of Inquisition soldiers. Six of them total. Six Chargers. Small groups, but they had the element of surprise on their side. Jasper nodded again. “Sounds good.”

There were only a few Venatori in the spot that they’d taken. Easy-peasy to dispatch them. A little too easy, but there were no other good spots to protect the smuggling ship from. The ship was already leaving shore, so Bull sent up their flare, which shot high into the sky in a burst of red sparkles, a few moments after Krem’s group.

“You gave them the easier job, didn’t you?” Gatt asked Bull, smirking.

Bull couldn’t help a smile. “Maybe.”

Then the dreadnought sailed forward and launched its attack of flaming cannonballs at the small smuggler’s ship. It went down in seconds. Jasper was surprised with the efficiency and ease of the whole operation. He’d expected a little more fighting, a little more challenge.

The smile fell from his face as he brushed past Gatt, pointing down on the beach. “Look - more Venatori. They’re headed toward Krem’s position.”

There were easily two dozen Venatori climbing the beach. Where had they been hiding? Krem and the Chargers had noticed them now, taking defensive positions, but they were utterly out-numbered.

“Bull,” Jasper said urgently. “They need to pull back. The Chargers can’t stand against a force that size.”

All humor was drained from Bull’s face, stony once more. He shook his head. “No. They can’t.”

“Your men need to hold that position, Hissrad,” Gatt insisted.

“If they do, they’re dead,” Bull countered, voice even and cool, but there was fire burning behind it.

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead,” Gatt snapped, pointing out to the slow-moving dreadnought. “You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the qunari! You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

The Iron Bull glared icily down at Gatt, disgust in his one good eye. His fingers were clenched around the horn attached to his belt, which Jasper had never really noticed before, but now he did.

“With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already!” Gatt sounded desperate now as he tried to convince his friend to abandon his brothers-in-arms. “I stood up for you, Hissrad. I told them you would _never_ become Tal-Vashoth!”

“They’re my men,” Bull growled.

“I know,” Gatt said sadly. “But you need to do what’s right...for this alliance, and for the Qun.”

Jasper shook his head vehemently. “What’s right is to save the lives of those willing to die for you! Call the retreat, Bull.”

Bull pulled the horn from the strap on his belt and put it to his lips, blowing one sharp note on it that echoed around the coastline. Immediately, the Chargers dropped back, retreating speedily as the Venatori advanced. They managed to escape without a scratch, and the Venatori continued on, unimpeded.

Gatt was shaking his head, stalking back and forth with frenetic anger. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away everything you are. For what? For this? For _them_?” He jabbed a finger at Jasper and the other Inquisition soldiers behind him.

Jasper clenched his teeth and jabbed a finger in Gatt’s direction. “His _name_ is Iron Bull.”

Gatt looked down at Jasper with disgust and rage, then brushed past him brusquely, shoving his aside bodily. “I suppose it is.”

He left them behind to watch the Venatori mages retake the position that the Chargers had held. Then they launched fireball after fireball at the dreadnought, which couldn’t retreat fast enough. Jasper felt a twinge of guilt, but he knew that if the Chargers had died, that twinge would’ve been magnified tenfold. Maybe it would’ve been different if he’d known the people on the ship. Maybe if he had, he’d be playing a different tune. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to make that choice. He hoped he never had to choose between two friends.

Jasper was waiting for the dreadnought to sink. But instead, it exploded, nearly sending Jasper jumping out of his skin. Iron Bull shielded his face with an arm reflexively, his one eye sad as his people died. Then he turned to Jasper.

“Come on,” he said, carefully devoid of all emotion. “Let’s get back to my boys.”

***  
The return to Skyhold was full of mixed emotions. Iron Bull was obviously upset - this meant he was banished from his people, his homeland. He was an exile now. But the Chargers were delighted to still be alive, and Jasper suspected they were doubly happy because when it came down to it, Iron Bull had chosen the Chargers over the qunari. He wondered if they had ever speculated before about what would happen if Bull was in such a position. He wondered what conclusions they had come to.

Gatt informed them before they left the Storm Coast that the Qunari officially rescinded their offer of alliance, and that the Iron Bull was no longer Ben-Hassrath and no longer Vashoth. Gatt left it at that and left, though Iron Bull wondered if Gatt was under orders to assassinate him now.

Back in Skyhold, Jasper watched Bull throw himself at the training dummies with the mindlessness that accompanied quite a bit of introspection and self-reflection. Jasper approached him cautiously, really quite unsure what was going on in Bull’s head right then. Maybe he’d be pissed at Jasper for having been the one to give the order to Bull to signal the Chargers to retreat.

“Boss,” Bull greeted, swinging his axe and leaning on the handle.

Jasper surveyed him, frowning a little against the bright afternoon sun. “Bull. I’m sorry about your people. If you want to blame me for it, for giving you the order to sound the retreat, that’s fine. But I think you made the right choice, and I’m grateful you did, and I’m...proud of you?”

Bull chuckled as Jasper’s voice pitched upward like he was unsure of what he was saying. “Proud of me, huh? Thanks, boss. I don’t blame you, though. I blew the horn. This one...this one needs to be mine.”

Jasper nodded and patted Bull’s arm as Krem approached them. “You’re late,” Bull snapped at him without any real heat.

Krem smirked. “Sorry, Chief. Still sore after fighting off all those ‘Vints. Good to see you, Inquisitor.”

Jasper touched Krem’s arm. “You know, I never thought I would be happy to see a ‘Vint still alive and kicking.”

Krem laughed. “We knew you and the chief had our backs. Gave us plenty of time to fall back safely. Bull is even cracking open a cask of Chasind sack mead for us tonight.”

Iron Bull swatted at Krem’s head, which he managed to duck from. “Dammit, Krem, that’s the sort of thing you don’t tell the Inquisitor.”

“Sorry, Chief,” Krem apologized, blushing a little as he glanced back at Jasper.

Jasper grinned as the two of them adopted sparring positions. “As long as I get to partake, I won’t tell Josie. She’s the one you really gotta worry about with the booze.” He watched them slam their shields into each other, which Jasper assumed was their way of saying _I love you_ in a totally platonic way. “I’ll leave you to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am TRYING to make this slow-burn. But I just want Dorian and Jasper to kiss kiss fall in love. I'm bad at this I'm so sorry.


	15. Ah, Fuck.

The one good thing about war meetings was that Jasper could space out from the proceedings while they all argued, and could sort through the tumultuous thoughts plaguing his brain. They’d lost the coveted alliance with the qunari, and they’d lost the Ben-Hassrath reports, which Leliana was rather tiffed about. Not to mention all the bullshit going on in the Western Approach, and Dorian still being a dickwad. So much bullshit. Just. So fucking much. Cullen was the only one who seemed to agree that there was too much red tape. Josephine was so keen to go over and rehearse every detail, over and over, despite their groans. Leliana didn’t seem to think they’d gathered enough intel to go forward with this attack, but Cullen was having none of it.

“If not now, when?” he snapped at Leliana, his fist tight on his sheathed sword, a vein in his temple throbbing. Jasper and Josephine stared between the two of them as they faced off silently, Leliana refusing to balk under his beady glare. Her cold, steely scowl did nothing to temper his. Eventually, Josephine cleared her throat politely.

“Meeting adjourned?” she said tentatively. Without a word, Leliana swept from the room in an angry whoosh of purple robes. Josephine followed after her with an offer of tea. Jasper glanced at Cullen, who seemed exhausted.

“You’ve got this,” Jasper assured him in his most confident tone. Cullen did not respond. After a moment, Jasper left him behind, the commander leaning over the map, face drawn and eyebrows pinched together.

Jasper paused outside Josephine’s office, watching across the hall as Dorian approached the door to Jasper’s quarters. He saw Dorian raise his fist, hesitate, lower it, raise it again, pause, and finally knock. Jasper didn’t mean to sneak up behind him, but old habits were hard to kick.

“Andraste’s holy knicker-weasels!” Dorian cursed, whirling around in shock when Jasper tapped his shoulder. Dorian calmed when he saw it was just the Inquisitor. “Oh. It’s you. Don’t scare me like that. I’m here for your lesson.”

Jasper raised his eyebrows but said nothing. That was a quick turn-around, considering that the day before he had claimed to be feeling entirely unwell. But Jasper wouldn’t call him out on that, not right now. “Oh. Okay. Then let’s go.”

They headed up the stairs together, Dorian a couple steps behind on the stairs. The room was a little messy, the open windows sending papers breezing across the floor. Jasper’s armor was haphazardly displayed; clothes dotted the floor; anal beads rested on the desk. Jasper snapped those up quickly and shoved them in a drawer. He didn’t think Dorian needed to know what he did when he went to bed alone.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologized as he got his books together. “Wasn’t expecting you to show, quite honestly.”

Dorian sighed as if he wasn’t sure why he decided to show up. He sat down in one of the two chairs at the desk, back ramrod straight. “Well. Your education, as Inquisitor, is more important than my...er...illness.”

Jasper scoffed silently and dropped into the other seat, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Well. I believe we left off with conjugations?”

Dorian nodded and started drawing up a diagram, explaining the rules as he went, using their previously chosen simple verb: _to fuck_. That was the word they’d chosen during their last lesson, before they’d left for Redcliffe, laughing and chortling like twelve-year-old boys. Jasper grimaced at it now. Dorian stumbled over the word.

“I don’t get it,” Jasper said several minutes later, slightly frustrated, as Dorian ran through the nominative conjugations. “Explain it again.”

Dorian sighed. “Just listen to me the first time.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Jasper snapped. “You’re rushing. Like you don’t want to be here.” Dorian was quiet, biting his lip. Jasper huffed and rose to his feet, chair scraping backwards but not falling. “Well, if you don’t want to fucking be here, then why don’t you fucking leave instead of wasting my time, while I could be - I don’t know - training, or writing reports?”

Dorian sighed, pinching his nose. “Because I have an obligation to you.”

“I don’t want you to teach me out of some fucking _sense of obligation_!” Jasper shouted. “You’re acting like a real dick - ignoring me and avoiding me for the last week, then treating me like a _student_. Is it because of who I am? Did my past shock you? Disgust you? Is it because I’m a prostitute? Or because I murdered my boyfriend? Or maybe because I’m a good-for-nothing bastard and a bandit?”

Dorian stood up suddenly, towering over Jasper, his chair falling back and clattering on the stone floor. “This isn’t about _you_! Stop making everything about you, Jasper,” Dorian growled, fire gleaming in his stormy eyes, as he tried to keep his voice controlled. “ _I’m_ upset. Maybe it’s because - “ He stopped suddenly, as if choking, mouth open, no words coming out. He promptly shut his mouth and started to turn away, as if he’d said nothing at all.

“Because what?” Jasper yelled, stepping right into Dorian’s personal space, shoving him a little. Dorian barely stumbled, his face turning red. “Because you want to stop sleeping with me? Because you’re scared of breaking it off with the Inquisitor? Scared that I’ll banish you from the Inquisition? Scared that I’ll out you to everyone here? You fucking pussy.”

Dorian grabbed Jasper by the front of his loose tunic and drove him back against the wall. Jasper gasped more out of shock than pain, staring up at Dorian, a little frightened by the shadow that passed over the mage’s face. His face was full of pain, frustration. His eyes were gleaming with some...emotion that Jasper couldn’t name.

“Yes, I am scared! I’m scared because I love you!” Dorian shouted, eyes wide with desperation, voice breaking as the words left his mouth. He froze for a moment, all blood draining from his face, olive skin turning ashen, and then he drew back suddenly as if electrocuted, and released Jasper, taking a stumbling step backwards.

They both stood there in silence for another long moment as Jasper’s feet hit the floor and Dorian covered his own mouth with a shaking, jeweled hand, eyes wide and staring at the floor. Jasper blinked like a fucking idiot, his mouth slightly agape. He couldn’t believe his ears. He knew he was being illogical. But he couldn’t quite put the words together in his brain to make a logical sentence.

“You...what?” Jasper asked hoarsely, panic building up in his chest like a bronto getting ready to charge.

How had he been so fucking oblivious?

Because he’d wanted to be. He didn’t want to think something more was blossoming between them. A bloom he had no choice but to stomp on.

“I love you,” Dorian repeated, voice soft and wavering, full of such desperation and sincerity, such fear and confusion. He dared a glance up toward Jasper. “I am...in love with you, Jasper.”

Jasper looked away, the panic now clawing up his throat. Burning. Like stomach acid. Like he might vomit. “Why?”

He felt Dorian’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look into those beautiful, earnest eyes. To look at Dorian’s open, vulnerable expression. To see the uncertain posture in such a confident man.

Dorian’s breath rushed out in a sigh. “I don’t know, Jasper.” He didn’t sound like himself. He sounded insecure and unsure. “I just...feel like you’re the only person I can be myself around. I’ve never had that before. I...trust you. And I like being around you. When I see you, I want to stand at your side, I want to be a better person. When you’re angry and upset, I want to hold you. When you’re gone on a mission, I can barely take my mind off you, I can barely read, or concentrate on a game of chess. I sit there, waiting, worrying, counting down the days until your return. I...for Maker’s sake, I attempt to listen in on the _war meeting_ for details of your adventures, when you’re gone. Just to know that you’re okay.”

Jasper swallowed thickly, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. The panic was in his mouth now. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, balling his hands into fists at his side. “I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence. “Don’t. Jasper. Please.”

“We can’t do this, Dorian,” Jasper insisted, voice tight, choked, the panic making his tongue like lead. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Don’t say that,” Dorian said, taking a step closer. “All I want is you.”

Jasper barked out a harsh laugh, the panic moving into his eyes as they started to tear up. “ _I_ don’t even want me.” He took a breath. “You should go.”

“Jasper -”

“Now, Dorian!” Jasper snarled, leaning back against the wall. He didn’t want Dorian around him. Not now. Not with... _this_ looming in the air. But Dorian stood there, resolute, hands extended as if he could pull Jasper toward him without touching him. What was he supposed to do to stop this? “I don’t want you, okay? I _don’t_ love you. I lost my ability to love a really fucking long time ago. I’m sorry, because I will never feel that way about you.”

Dorian froze for a brief second that stretched out for a lifetime, before turning on his heel abruptly to leave. Jasper didn’t look, didn’t lift his head, didn’t move from his spot braced against the wall as Dorian stomped down the stairs and slammed the door with all his might behind him. The panic was everywhere. After a long, drawn-out moment of quiet and solitude, like a breath being deeply inhaled, Jasper tried moving from the wall. Like an exhale, he crumpled, the looming anxiety snatching his legs away, and he curled up there on the marble as the panic took over every part of his body simultaneously.

He couldn’t breathe. He was sobbing. The breath wasn’t doing what it was supposed to, it wasn’t making it to his lungs, it was just giving him enough to sob out as tears burned his eyes but refused to fall. He rolled into a ball on his side and clutched himself terribly close as the panic ebbed and flowed, his brain shoving away all thought for a brief few moments of clarity when Jasper considered getting off the floor. The moment he tried to pick himself up, however, the panic returned like a storm surge rushing over the beach, a tidal wave washing everything in its path away.

He lay there, gasping and sobbing and shaking, for hours until the crashing waves lost their momentum, slowly, and he was able to crawl into bed. He reached blindly into his bedside table and pulled out a flask of whiskey. He could’ve smoked, sure, but he had no business feeling carefree tonight. He twisted off the cap and started chugging, spluttering with the burn. He ignored it and just kept swallowing, barely taking a moment to breathe.

This was his fault, all his fault.

When he was finished draining the flask in record time, he felt a slight buzz already kicking in. He got out of bed to close the glass doors to the balcony. He paused as he looked down into the courtyard lit by lanterns, the Herald’s Rest glowing far below. The village looked so peaceful. A small group of drunken soldiers tripped out the door, music floating with them, Jasper’s enhanced hearing just barely picking it up from up here. He took a breath of fresh air. A moment later, he saw the hulking form of the Iron Bull leaving the tavern. Jasper squinted, having trouble narrowing his vision as the whiskey worked its way into his bloodstream.

Dorian. Hanging on Iron Bull’s arm. Throwing his arms around Iron Bull’s neck. Kissing him. Jasper knew he couldn’t really hear them, but he swore that the sound of their wet kisses had floated up to his window.

Jasper slammed the door shut, wincing as the glass shattered in its panes and fell to the floor. He sniffled and lurched to the bed, fighting the fresh wave of tears, ignoring the frigid breeze. He guessed he would just be cold tonight. He didn’t care.

***  
Jasper couldn’t wait for the march to the Western Approach to start. Maker’s fucking tits, he couldn’t wait to throw himself at a bunch of seasoned warriors and mages and their demons. He couldn’t wait to possibly face down with Corypheus, but to definitely face down with the pompous Erimond jackass. Fuckin’ ‘Vint.

But until then, it was interminable meetings broken up only by binge drinking and nonstop smoking and wallowing and avoiding Varric and Sera and Cassandra and Cole, all their worry and pushiness and prying. The shattered door to his balcony still had not been replaced. Jasper still did not care.

He was currently in said interminable meeting, which was at least warm. Things were being hammered in. Supplies were being prepared for travel, loaded onto carts to be pulled by brontos. Soldiers were training harder than ever, being pushed harder than ever by Rylen and Cullen and Cassandra. The mood in Skyhold was a strange one: frenetic and nervous, excited and bubbly, all at once.

The meeting was adjourned, finally, thank the Maker. They would be leaving tomorrow at first light. Jasper wanted to get his stuff packed, get a renewed supply of herbs and weed from Adan, spend some time at a whetstone sharpening his blades and his extras. He wanted to spend some time practicing his aim with the shuriken Leliana had specially acquired on his request. They were neat little devils, but he didn’t like the idea of having to go collect them every time he used one on a target. Like he was some sort of _archer_.

They started filing out of the War Room. “How are your lessons with Dorian going?” Josephine asked innocently. Jasper faltered and tripped and nearly face-planted, but caught himself against Cullen, who helped him stand back up.

Jasper bit his lip, not sure where his breath had gone. He couldn’t remember how to speak. After a moment of collecting his scattered thoughts, he replied, “They’re not.”

“Pardon?” Josephine said, tilting her head to the side, earrings jangling.

Jasper sighed. “I don’t think I need his lessons anymore.”

Josephine paused. Leliana and Cullen paused, curious to listen in, though they kept walking at an incredibly slow place. “Would you...like me to find you a new teacher?”

Jasper shrugged. “Well, I don’t particularly care. On the off-chance I don’t die when we storm this fortress, maybe.”

He pushed past them all, shoving past Leliana particularly hard. He instantly regretted it; not because he was scared of her, though he was, but because she hadn’t deserved it. He’d done it out of a vicious sense that she already _knew_ about his and Dorian’s falling-out. Maker, what had the Inquisition done to him? Caring about people’s feelings, like some sort of pansy?

He couldn’t get his hands around a bottle of booze fast enough.

***  
Jasper was in a grouchy mood as they rode out for the desert. He was hungover, and going through a bit of withdrawal, as he was _entirely_ sober for the first time in days. He was shivering even as he was sweating, and oozing out such negative vibes it was a wonder his mare didn’t buck him off. But she knew she would be in that night’s stew if she did, he was in such a foul mood.

“Fluffy, you okay?” Varric asked, riding beside Jasper. The sun was relentless overhead, and Jasper was slick with sweat, and not in a good, sexy way.

“Shut the fuck up, Varric,” Jasper snapped. _Someone_ had rooted through his saddlebags and gotten rid of all the bottles of liquor he had stashed in them. He had a sneaking feeling it might’ve been the dwarf. Possibly Cole. Or the two of them conspiring together to try and “help” Jasper, or whatever they thought was helpful.

Varric sighed. “You’ve been...terribly withdrawn lately, Fluff. So dour and gloomy. It’s got _me_ down. Not hearing your marvelous dulcet tones and your bawdy jokes. What’s a dwarf to do when his friend won’t talk to him about what’s on his mind?”

“I’ll give you a fucking piece of my mind if you don’t fuck right off, Varric,” Jasper snarled. Varric opened his mouth but Jasper cut him off. “I’m serious, Varric. Drop it.”

Varric’s warm brown eyes were sad as he eyed Jasper, slouched forward in his saddle. “Jasper. You know you can talk to me anytime, totally off the record. Nothing will get into my book, I promise. I just...I’m worried for you. We all are. Dorian was even asking me about you -”

Jasper sucked in a breath as if suckerpunched in the gut. He didn’t want to think about Dorian, because when he did, not only did he remember Dorian’s painful confession, not only did he remember his own catastrophic rejection, he remembered seeing Dorian and the Iron Bull tangled around each other as they left the Herald’s Rest. Although he _did_ want to know what he’d said to Varric.

Varric side-eyed Jasper. “Ah” was all the dwarf said. “I thought so.”

“Happy now?” Jasper snapped peevishly. “You got your fucking gossip. Go collect your winnings from the others.”

“You’re not angry at me,” Varric said evenly, ignoring Jasper’s hate-filled words of vitriol. “You’re angry at yourself.”

“Wow, so fucking clever, Varric,” Jasper said sarcastically. “The dwarf knows basic psychology. What trick will he turn out next?”

“You can keep attacking me all you like, Fluffy, it’s not gonna scare me off,” Varric warned him with a chuckle.

“You haven’t seen my worst,” Jasper threatened.

“Scary.”

“Whatever. I just don’t wanna fucking talk about it right now, okay? Or ever, really. I just don’t want to be a person currently. Or ever. Can I become a bronto? I think I’d like that. Or a druffalo. Maybe a nug. A nug who’s the pet of some froofy noblewoman. That’s the fucking life.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Jasper finally gave into the nagging little voice in the back of his mind. He took a breath. “Sorry for snapping at you. What did Dorian have to say? I assume you’ve already interrogated him.”

Varric chewed over his response. “He asked if I would continue your reading lessons in his stead.”

Jasper scoffed. “I don’t remember telling him he could share that tidbit of info with other people. Fucking prick.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “He’s worried about you, despite...whatever happened. But anyway, if you want me to teach you, I can. Don’t know how good of a teacher I’d be, but I can try.”

Jasper shook his head. “No thanks. I’d rather not ruin all my relationships so quickly.”

Varric chuckled dryly. “What, you think teaching you is what made everything turn sour?”

“No, just the prolonged exposure to my general shittiness,” concluded Jasper. “It’s bad for your mental health.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, kid,” Varric pressed. “Shit happens. If this whole Dorian thing is really bothering you so much, maybe you should reevaluate, try talking to him.”

Jasper stiffened. “If I wanted relationship advice, I’d fucking ask, Varric.”

“Oh, so it _is_ a relationship, then?”

Jasper ignored him, clenched his jaw, and spurred his horse on faster, outpacing Varric and his pony. He rode alone as much as he could, ignoring most attempts at conversation. Cullen was the only one he’d talk to, and that was only for strategy. At night, Jasper kept his distance from the others, smoking instead of drinking, so at least he wouldn’t be falling apart at the seams when they faced down the Grey Wardens and the demons. He tried to eat, but he just had zero appetite, despite the weed. He just smoked to fall the fuck asleep.

Adamant Fortress loomed in the distance, glistening in the light of the sun’s first rays of the day. The trebuchets had already been set up by an eager noblewoman’s sappers. Their final march upon the keep began that day. Three long weeks, they’d been on the move, marching as an army, Jasper trying to be the figurehead these people deserved, even if it was all a show, a lie, a farce. Smoke and mirrors.

“Beautiful day for a seige, isn’t it?” Hawke had greeted him happily earlier in the day. It was so oppressively cloudy, trapping the heat like a greenhouse. Jasper was steaming in his own armor. He grimaced. It was nearly sunset now. The siege would begin momentarily as the army settled themselves at the mouth of the valley between the rise and the fortress.

The trebuchets were set into action on the rise, hurling flaming chunks of tar and rocks at the walls of the indomitable fortress. Siege ladders were thrust against the facade of the keep, allowing their frontline men to either mow or be mowed down by the Wardens awaiting them at the top. Wardens were shooting flaming arrows down upon those moving the siege engine forward, slowly but surely, to break open the doors to the keep. The engine itself was shaped like a huge clenched fist, supposedly the fist of the Maker. Jasper didn’t get a say in the design, obviously. He would’ve had it extending its middle finger. Or redone the design entirely, and have it look like a dick.

Blood slicked the stones of the keep as bodies fell from the ramparts above. Jasper stood behind Cullen’s shield as the door blew inward, and Inquisition soldiers flooded the keep, slicing down any Wardens in their paths. Jasper and Cullen were right behind them, trailed by Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and Indira.

“We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied as long as we can,” Cullen said with grim determination. “Hawke is on the battlements. You need to find Warden-Commander Clarel and stop her and Erimond from continuing this ritual.”

Jasper nodded. “Here goes nothing, I guess.”

They climbed the stairs upward into the belly of the keep, onto the battlements, slaying any demon or Warden in their way that didn’t lay down their arms. It was gruesome, particularly so because these were supposed to be good men and women, selfless warriors with one purpose: to stop darkspawn. And here they were, enslaved by that very goal.

They found Hawke with Dorian and Iron Bull, trying to fight off the host of demons on the battlements, backs against the wall quite literally. Jasper slipped into shadow and sliced and diced through the vital points of the fleshy demons, glittering back into visual perception as the demons melted into puddles of Fade goo. He was panting, sweating, hair falling in his eyes, and desperately trying to ignore Dorian and Iron Bull as Hawke clapped his back.

“Thanks for the help, friend,” she said, glancing toward a closed door at the end of the corridor on the ramparts. “We need to hurry. The ritual has already begun.”

They all rushed to the door, Solas blowing it inward with a murmured spell. Inside the ceilingless chamber, they saw a young elven woman crumple to the floor in a pool of blood. Her throat had been slit. Above her stood a bald woman in her forties, dressed in Warden mage robes, a dripping dagger in her hand and an incredible weight in her eyes. To her right stood Erimond, still as greasy and despicable as ever, in slightly dirty white robes.

Jasper gestured with a hand for the others to stay back as he approached the group of mages standing around a Fade rift. One that they had created to summon demons for their rituals. Erimond and Clarel stood above them on a platform with their sacrifice, the poor girl’s glassy eyes staring up at nothing. All that girl had wanted to do was make a change in the world by serving the Grey Wardens.

“You’re murdering innocents!” Jasper snarled, jabbing a finger. “You know this isn’t right. You know you’re being used. Stop this madness now, Clarel!”

Erimond sneered down at him. “Then the Blight rises up with no Wardens left to stop it, and the whole world dies! Is that what you want? Yes, the ritual requires blood magic, hate that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will,” Clarel said proudly and sadly, looking around at her soldiers. At the dead bodies. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them.”

Indira strode forward. “Erimond is of the Venatori. He will bind the mages to the will of Corypheus!”

“Corypheus?” Clarel gasped, eyes wide. “But he’s dead…”

Obviously someone had _not_ gotten the memo. Erimond cut his hand through the air, as if Jasper and the others were just a mist he could dispel. “These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel.”

Clarel looked uncertain. She ran a hand down her pale face, eyeing the Inquisition, eyeing Erimond, eyeing the dead elf at her feet. Jasper thought it might actually be this easy to stop. But then her face hardened. “Bring it through,” she commanded the mages.

The tear in the Fade writhed as it was manipulated by the toxic magic of the Warden mages. They opened it into a rift, a gaping hole in the fabric of the world. Jasper saw something moving in it as Hawke and Indira strode forward, pleading with the mages and Clarel to stop this. Jasper cocked his head to the side. Whatever was in the Fade was big and had lots of eyes. More eyes than a pride demon. Eyes that were trained on him.

“Be ready with the ritual, Clarel,” Erimond condescended. “This demon is truly worthy of your power and strength.”

Jasper tore his eyes from the tear, stepped forward. “I have no quarrels with the Wardens. I don’t want to kill you, Clarel, but you’re being used! All of you. And some of you know it, don’t you? The mages don’t seem the same anymore, do they? Like they’ve lost a part of themselves that made them who they are?”

Jasper didn’t know what he was saying, honestly, but it sounded good. When in doubt, lie and deny. It seemed to be working. The unbound mages were looking around at each other as if Jasper’s words struck a chord.

“They’re not the same anymore,” one Warden admitted. “It’s like...they’re tranquil, but can still perform magic.”

“Do not show fear, Wardens!” Clarel commanded.

“They’re not afraid, Clarel,” Hawke said, shaking her head bitterly with anger on her face. “You are. You’re afraid you’ve ordered your people, these good and brave men and women, to die for nothing.”

“This is not the way,” Indira insisted, her large honey eyes wide. The only time she’d seemed vulnerable so far. “You’ve all been tricked.”

The mages paused in the ritual, turning to look up at Clarel and Erimond. Clarel seemed more uncertain than ever, as if she were blindfolded and thrown into a snake pit. She turned to Erimond, said something, shaking her head, gesturing toward the Inquisition. Jasper couldn’t hear over the din of distant battle, the murmuring of the mages, the crackle of magic.

“Maybe I should bring in a more reliable ally!” Erimond spat at Clarel, raising his staff and striking it down on the stone in a flurry of red sparks. “My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

Jasper’s blood turned to ice at the familiar roar that rent the air like a thunderclap. He looked up and saw the dragon, the possible archdemon, swooping in from seemingly nowhere, diving toward the roofless chamber. A bolt of red electricity shot from its mouth and Jasper dove out of the way, tackling Indira in the process and rolling the two of them away from danger. Just like in Haven, this dragon would turn the battle, which had been in their favor, for the worse.

The dragon perched on a parapet and roared, the noise scraping along Jasper’s bones as he struggled back to his feet, pulling Indira up with him. “You alright?” he asked, glancing at her and then toward the others, trying to find them in the dust and smoke.

Their attention was only forced from the dragon when Clarel attacked Erimond, shocking him into a spasming heap on the floor. It was good to see the bugger writhe. But then Clarel turned her attention to the dragon, Erimond pleading with her to stop, to wait, to reconsider. Jasper watched as she sent a bolt of lightning at the dragon and it responded in kind with a blast of its own, sending her flying back off her feet.

The dragon launched itself into the air and Erimond took off like a shot down a side passage, Clarel hot on his heels with rage in her eyes. Betrayal could do that to you. Jasper would know.

“We need to go after them!” Jasper said, but they were held back by a sudden surge of demons pouring through the chamber doors. Between them and the still-unbound Grey Wardens, they managed to dispatch them quickly, but it cost them seconds that really could not be spared. Jasper took off in the direction Erimond and Clarel had gone, faster than the others from years of experience of running for his life.

He’d forgotten about the dragon, somehow, until a bolt of its red lightning struck just behind him and sent him flying forward across the ramparts. It blew a huge hole into the stone, leaving a sliver behind to travel across. The others would make it across, he was sure, but he had no time to wait and see.

He dodged attacks from the dragon and the demons alike, sprinting along the blood-slicked stone like a champion marathoner, until he stepped out into another large, roofless chamber. This one was long and suspended over a deep, seemingly endless, dark chasm far below. It was like a bridge that stopped halfway to its destination, the far end hovering over a deep chasm. Jasper saw Clarel and Erimond on the far end, could hear the footsteps of the others racing after him. He knew Cassandra would be pissed he’d taken off without backup, but would she blame him?

Jasper could see why Clarel was the Warden-Commander. She was a force to be reckoned with, an incredibly powerful mage. Her barriers never faltered as she advanced with fury upon Erimond and he shot spell after spell at her, fireballs fizzing to nothing against her spirit shield. She forced him back onto the very precipice of the bridge as the others joined, watching. Indira and Hawke were at his side, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas just behind him, Iron Bull and Dorian behind them.

“You!” Clarel seethed, sending a flare of force power against Erimond that knocked him off his feet. “You’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!”

He chuckled as he rolled over onto his back. “You did that yourself, you stupid bitch. All I did was dangle a bit of power before your eyes, and you couldn’t _wait_ to get your hands bloody!”

The force of the lightning spell she cast at him sent him sliding across the stone and had him curling into the fetal position as she advanced upon him. “You could’ve served a new god,” Erimond moaned.

“I will _never_ serve the Blight!” Clarel declared as she raised her staff above her head, the blade at its end gleaming in the torchlight. Before she brought it down, the dragon swooped in behind her and snapped her up in its jaws, shaking its great head back and forth, her legs dangling out of its mighty maw. It took off again and tossed Clarel aside like a ragdoll, before advancing on Jasper and the others from the other side of the bridge, the way they’d come from, cutting off their only route of escape. They crept slowly backwards, toward the lip of the platform, jutting over empty space.

Jasper saw Clarel moving out of the corner of her eyes, saying something. As the dragon leapt toward them, she cast a spell, a bolt of lightning hitting its soft, exposed belly midleap. It crashed into the bridge with a roar, and the shattering sound of stone nearly deafened Jasper as it slid to the side and fell off into the darkness below.

They’d all been knocked to the ground, but had no time to recover and reorient themselves as the platform started to give way, stones tumbling and disappearing into the gloom far below. They were running, but Hawke was hanging off the edge by the tips of her fingers. Jasper cursed in frustration and ran back, sliding to a stop and reaching for her hands, yanking her up with all his power as they ran after the others, the stones literally falling out from beneath their feet as they raced away from the crumbling edge.

But then the whole thing was gone, and Jasper was airborne. He prayed to the Maker for the first time in his life that the others were safe and had made it away from danger as he fell, tumbling through the air with chunks of rock. He threw his left hand out, his mark flaring angrily, pain shooting up his arm like he’d broken the bone (which had happened before). He blacked out before he hit the bottom.

***  
In fact, he never did hit the bottom. He felt his descent slow, and opened up his eyes, afraid to know what he would see. Maybe he was already dead? He wasn’t sure as he took in the rocky ground he was floating upside down above. He reached out slowly and touched the ground hesitantly, which promptly caused him to collapse in a painful jangle of limbs. He struggled back to his feet, head spinning, the Anchor throbbing like nobody’s business, trying to figure out where he was. Was this what was at the bottom of the chasm? How had he survived? Some spell, maybe?

Maker’s breath, every part of his body was aching. He got up and walked around, squinting in the dim green light, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw Indira, wiping the dirt off her trousers. She looked up at him in alarm when she heard him approach.

“Inquisitor,” she said with relief. “Thank the Maker. I...shit. This is...unexpected.”

Jasper looked around. “D’you know where we are, then?”

“Is this...are we dead?” another voice asked, and they whirled around to see Hawke approaching, eyebrows scrunched with worry. “If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

Indira shook her head, lips pressed together. “Shit. No, the Inquisitor used his mark to open another rift as we fell. I saw it. We must be in the Fade. Not that I would really know. This must be a first for dwarves.”

Solas appeared around the corner, eyes wide with shock. “I never thought I would find myself physically in the Fade…Look, the Black City, almost close enough to touch.”

“The Fade looks much different than I remember,” Hawke remarked with a sniff. “Not an improvement, really. The green is tacky.”

“You saw the Fade in a dream,” Solas remarked. “This is no dream. Inquisitor, when you walked out of the Fade, was it like this?”

Jasper shrugged, turning to Cassandra, who had been closest to the Breach when he’d walked out of it, all those months ago. “I don’t know. I...don’t remember. The only thing I do remember is seeing a woman’s face. That’s it. Even over the last several months, nothing new has come to me.”

Varric sighed. “This can’t go in my book. No one will ever believe it.”

“Where are the others?” Jasper asked, looking around. “Dorian and Iron Bull? They were right behind us, weren’t they?”

They all looked around at each other, but neither of their missing comrades poked their heads out to surprise them all. Jasper felt a lead weight drop through his torso, knocking the wind out of him, but he couldn’t...he couldn’t even contemplate it right now. That they hadn’t made it. Maybe it was for the best, if they were all gonna die in the Fade anyway.

“We need to stay on our guard,” Cassandra said, staring around at the bizarre world they were in. The green sky, the ashy and obsidian earth around them, rising in huge stone structures. “There was a massive demon in the rift Clarel and the others were opening. It could be nearby.”

“That rift should still be open,” Indira said. “Perhaps we can get out the same way?”

Jasper looked up at the sky, or whatever the atmosphere was. There was a swirling green circle, not unlike the Breach, but smaller and more contained, gaping open. Jasper took a deep breath, panic skittering over his skins like tiny spiders. “Shit. Fuck. Shit. I really fucking hope so. It’s better than hanging around here, anyway.”

They started off in the general direction toward the rift, voices echoing eerily. “Remember the last time we ended up in the Fade, Hawke?” Varric asked, a laugh in his voice.

“Oh, how could I forget?” she replied. “My closest friends showed such loyalty in the face of a demon’s temptations.”

“Well, we got better,” Varric insisted. “Sort of.”

They kept marching on, Jasper scratching his neck, his cheek, any exposed skin. It all felt itchy with crawlers. “Solas,” he called out. “You’re the expert, aren’t you? On the Fade, at least. Any insights worth sharing with the group?”

Solas preened, so delighted to bore them all with his never-ending sermons. “Yes. The Fade is shaped by intent and emotions. Remain focused, and it will lead you where you wish to go. The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess. Feeding off the terror of the Wardens. I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations and prepare for what is certain to be a fascinating experience.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course, being in the ass-end of Demon Town is my idea of a perfect summer getaway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry lol. I love angst. I rewrote that confession/argument dozens of times, and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it, but I'm tired of writing it and I think it's as good as it's gonna get.
> 
> Ok. So. I'm talking about ME, because I'm MY favorite topic. I feel like y'all have noticed I pick Cass and Varric a lot as companions for Jasper's missions, and that's bc I stan them SO HARD. But also because of team dynamics. Varric is long-ranged, which evens out party dynamics with two long-ranged (rogue and mage) and two close-ranged (rogue and warrior). I don't include Sera b/c I don't think I write her character well. Cole unbalances that dynamic. Cassandra was useful for the plot, as Jasper's reader/writer. I don't put Iron Bull on missions with them b/c Jasper's got a crush on him and Bull purposely tries to distance themselves, and I just feel like once I write them fucking it's not gonna end. And Blackwall? I just don't like writing him. Love his backstory and character arc, but that's the most interesting thing about him.
> 
> As for mages...I really hate Solas. Like, really, really, really despise him. He's so annoying. Every game I play, I make the choices so I can punch him. The only time I romanced him I did it so I could cuss him out. Love that. Dumbass egghead. No hate if you like him, of course, just disdain. And Vivienne...she's so fucking elitist. I get that it's her way to survive, and I do adore her, but she and Jasper don't jive AT ALL. Do not interact. Once he realizes how conservative she is, he gets really turned off. He's a radical. Free range mages, and all that.
> 
> Thanks for coming to my TED talk. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and my little rambling.


	16. Fuck the Fade!!!

They wandered forward, picking their way through the eerie, lopsided landscape. It was wrong. The very land beneath their feet was wrong. The stones were wrong, the atmosphere was wrong, everything was wrong.

Nobody spoke as they dispatched errant wisps. When they disintegrated, Jasper wondered where they went. Did they reform elsewhere in the Fade? Or were they really dead now? With his luck, the former was true, and they’d run into them again. Then again, there was no real way to tell, was there?

They climbed the next rise, Jasper sweating despite the chilliness that seemed to be seeping into his bones. There was something bright and white at the top, and Jasper suddenly felt a horrifying sense of deja vu. Like he’d been here before, in this situation, a white figure above him, reaching her hand out, and he felt his hand, his left hand, his palm marked with the Anchor, rising as if of its own volition. Jasper frowned at his hand and made it lower.

“Who are you?” he asked the figure warily, daggers at the ready. The others were all tense and had their weapons out.

“Identify yourself!” Cassandra barked, stepping in front of Jasper.

The glow around the figure faded slowly, or maybe their eyes just grew accustomed to it. The figure resolved to be an old lady, pale face wrinkly and lined, her feathery, white eyebrows low on her brow, knitted together with concern. She wore a white and red robe like those the Chantry clergy wore. Atop her head was a massive headdress bedazzled with gold. Flaps descended from the edges and pooled around her shoulders.

Cassandra gasped, sword and shield drooping. Hawke cursed, and Indira hefted her massive sword at the woman. “Divine Justinia?” Cassandra asked in utter shock and disbelief. “Most Holy?”

“Cassandra,” the woman replied with a soft smile on her face.

“Divine Justinia?” Jasper repeated, shocked. “She’s dead, though. Are you sure it’s her, Cass?”

“I...I don’t know,” Cassandra admitted, staring at the woman with conflicted, sad eyes. “It is said that sometimes the souls of the dead that pass through the Fade sometimes linger...but it’s been months. We know the spirits lie. Be wary, Jasper.”

Solas stuck his chin in the air. “This is likely an errant spirit taking the form of the Divine. Or a demon. Be on your guard.”

“Proving my existence will waste precious time,” the spirit said magnanimously. “I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

“You can’t be the Divine,” Jasper declared. “The real Divine would have no way of knowing that I’d been made Inquisitor.”

“I know because I examined memories like those that were stolen from you,” the spirit said, floating closer. “This is the realm of a demon that serves Corypheus. It is the nightmare you forget upon waking, but leaves you feeling vulnerable and disturbed. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. It has no shortage of meals these days.”

“Time to put that sucker on a diet, then,” Jasper said, twirling his daggers. Not his best line, but it was all he had right now, as he looked out at the unnatural, desolate world around him. Not really that conducive to light humor. “Where is it?”

“Before you face it, you must recover the memories it stole from you in Haven,” the spirit told him. She floated higher and pointed out at wisps dotting the landscape, hovering menacingly. “Those wisps contain your memories. Fight them, and retrieve what is yours.”

Jasper often wished he’d never been born. But having to relive the moments of the Breach, running through the Fade being chased by every fear he’d ever had; having to fight off his fears made physical - Laila, Augustus, Auntie, the Tevinter slavers, every disgusting patron from the Rose Garden - those were the worst things he’d ever experienced. If it weren’t for Cassandra’s determination, Varric’s support, and Solas’s constant pushing, Jasper wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have just laid down and died.

At least everyone knew he really was a fraud, after all.

Worse than that, though, was the Nightmare’s voice in his head.

Jasper recovered the first memory, a glowy green orb that absorbed through his hand. It didn’t hurt, not anymore than closing rifts did. His vision went dark, then bright white, and he saw the memory as if floating above it. There he was, before all this happened, and it was so weird to see himself in general, but to see himself looking _younger_ and _happier_ , unbothered by the weight of the world, just a random bandit living his life...it was surreal. Beside him was Laila, her long reddish hair in a thick plait down her back.

“It’s not safe, what if we run into guards?” Laila hissed as him, her hand in his as he shushed her, sneaking around another corner.

“Okay, but think of the sort of loot we’ll find,” Jasper told her. “Better than robbing those pilgrims.”

Laila rolled her eyes, sighing. “I did not sneak in here and break you out of that dungeon just so you could get tossed back in, dumbass.”

“We’re not going to get caught,” Jasper insisted, tugging her along. “I promise. Now come on, watch your footsteps, you can walk lighter than that.”

She pouted but did as he instructed, though she’d never be as quiet as him. She was no elf, after all. They rounded a corner, but slowed to a stop at the sound of muffled shouting. No one else was around. There was a door halfway down the hall, slightly ajar, an uneasy, unnatural light spilling out.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” a voice like cracking bones announced. Jasper shivered, glanced at Laila. Her eyes were wide with fear, the voice turning her blood to ice. She started to pull Jasper away, back the way they’d come, but his feet were rooted to the spot, listening. “Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Stop! Somebody help me!” a voice fraught with terror screamed, a desperate shriek.

Jasper let go of Laila’s hand and darted forward. He wasn’t a hero, and he would never call himself one, not in a thousand years. Not even now, as Inquisitor. But he heard someone being hurt. Someone being used. And he wasn’t thinking, he just did. He threw the door open and saw a group of people in blue and white armor, arms extended, a beam of energy stretching forward from each one’s hand to keep a woman in Chantry robes suspended midair.

Approaching her was...someone that Jasper couldn’t describe as a man, for he could not be human. Taller than any natural man, taller even than a qunari, twisted and deformed. There were chunks of red crystal protruding from its head, face, shoulders. The thing was insanely thin, skeletal and emaciated, but moved with power and strength, a metal ball floating above its hand. The sphere glowed green, humming with power. It crackled as he approached the floating woman, and something started stretching away from her body, something that Jasper instinctively labeled as _lifeforce_.

“Oi!” Jasper hollered. Something told him this monster hadn’t asked for consent before using this instrument to suck out her soul. “What’s going on here?”

Jasper, as usual, was the perfect distraction. The monstrous creature looked over at him and the floating woman took advantage of that to knock the ball from his hand. It hit the floor with a crash and rolled toward the door, sparks flying. Jasper bent to scoop it up, since whatever it was, this monster shouldn’t have it.

The pain was immediately. It suckered on to his left hand like a leech, burning and tearing and setting his whole body on fire. Jasper screamed. He fell to his knees as the monster ran at him with a cry of anger. The instrument was glowing and spinning wildly, the light growing stronger and vaster, and then it exploded.

Everything went white again and Jasper, there in the Fade with Hawke and the Warden and his companions, fell backwards onto his ass, the breath knocked utterly out of him. He clutched his left hand, the Anchor sputtering angrily, and gasped for breath, pain lancing up his arm. He curled over it, biting his lip hard enough he thought he might bite it right off. Varric put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder.

“You okay, Fluff?” he asked, blinking. “We...all saw whatever that was. That memory. You good?”

“Just...hurts…” Jasper panted, struggling back to his feet. “Maker fucking dammit.”

“So your mark did not come from Andraste,” Indira remarked. “It came from the orb in that ritual.”

Jasper shrugged. “I’ve been trying to tell you all for months that I’m not chosen by Andraste, but does anyone listen to me? Fucking nope.”

“Corypheus wanted to use the ritual to tear a whole in the Fade, using the Anchor to tear it open and travel through the Fade,” the spirit explained. “Then he would have thrown the doors to the Black City open.”

Jasper made an annoyed noise. “Fat lot of good that info does for us now! How the fuck are we supposed to get out of here, or defeat the Nightmare, or Corypheus, or save the Wardens? All it tells me is that I’m just a mistake, and I already knew that. Fucking useless.”

“You must regain all of your memories in order to leave,” the spirit repeated simply. “You must be complete. But now that you’ve reclaimed what was yours, the Nightmare knows you are here. You must hurry.”

They trudged forward, Hawke and Indira bickering about whether or not it was really the Divine, if the Grey Wardens were truly to blame after all, and all sorts of nonsense that Jasper couldn’t care less about. What other memories had the Nightmare taken? What else did it know about him? About them all?

A smooth, silky voice that was cold as ice spoke. “What is this? Visitors? A little boy, come looking for his worst nightmares? You should leave them where they are, Jasper Lavellan, and thank me for removing their burden from your shoulders.”

Jasper shivered and kept moving forward, head bowed low, as if to ward off a strong wind. The Nightmare taunted them all, not just Jasper, revealing all their darkest fears. Jasper tried not to listen, tried not to let its words get to him. So Cassandra had always been secretly afraid that he was a fraud, huh? Well, her fears were well-founded, evidently. Jasper was nothing more than a charlatan, wasn’t he?

Varric was scared that he’d led Hawke into danger once again. Varric was scared of becoming like his parents, or like his brother. Hawke was scared she’d never be able to do anything right, couldn’t save anyone. Indira was scared that even if she could stop fighting, she would choose not to. That her life would never evolve from constant warfare.

Worse than the taunting were the spiders, which transformed into each of their deepest fears when it approached them. Jasper kept his lips pressed tightly together as a horde of zombies bearing the faces of his friends and dead loved ones lurched toward him. Zombie Augustus, zombie Laila, zombie Varric and Cassandra and Iron Bull and Sera and Cole. And Dorian. Dorian, like Augustus and Laila, had a dagger protruding from their chests. From their hearts. Jasper, of course, recognized it as his own dagger. The dagger Augustus had given him, years ago.

Just another reminder of how many lives depended on him, and how many had been lost because of him.

They killed more wisps and demons, and Jasper collected the memories with a heavy heart. The Nightmare demon was right. He didn’t want these memories. More reminders of what an absolute fuckup he was. This memory showed him and the Divine, in the Fade, running up the steepest fucking staircase Jasper had ever seen. A horde of spiders scuttled up the steps after them, twittering and chittering like screams of the dead. The Divine, reaching for his hand, pulling him up the last few steps with strength that should not have belonged to an old lady. She pushed him ahead of her, toward the rift, but then she faltered, fell as a spider latched onto her legs with its mighty, oozing pincers.

“Go!” she shouted at him before the spiders scuttled over her body and covered her. Jasper ran, jumped through the rift.

Andraste hadn’t even been a vague idea in the Fade then. He doubted the Divine was even thinking about her god and his bride as they were running from demons. It had been just a couple of normal mortals, the Divine and an elf, no Andraste, no Maker.

Jasper leaned on a rock, his mark sparking. The others stopped to catch their breath, mull over what they’d seen. Jasper scrubbed his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut, and all he saw were the dead, coming back for revenge. And Jasper could keep killing them, trying to destroy his memories of them, but they always came back. “Fuck!” he shouted suddenly, startling the others. “Fuck this!”

Hawke put her hand on Jasper’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “When the fear demons attack, I see all the mages I let down in Kirkwall. I see myself as a blood mage. Also cockroaches. I see a lot of roaches.”

Jasper sighed, wrapping his arms around himself and hugging. “I see the undead. Some have already died, some have not. I see you and Varric, as well as those from my past. Their deaths? All my fault.”

“I see darkspawn,” Indira told him. “Of course. But instead of having twisted faces, I can see clearly who they are. My friends, my family. Ghosts from our pasts are funny like that, aren’t they?” Her smile was lukewarm.

Jasper looked around at all these heroes. They’d all lost so much. He didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be a hero, he didn’t want to be the Inquisitor. He would give anything to go back to being a bandit. But he didn’t think he had a choice this time. Did they have a choice? Hawke and Indira, could they have turned their backs so easily on their fates?

The Nightmare’s taunting became more desperate and severe as they advanced through the Fade. “You know that even if you survive, Lavellan, there is no peace. No peace for a murderer. The worst sins imaginable, you have committed. Fornicator, betrayer of kin, murderer of the innocent.”

Jasper didn’t need a vision in order to see these memories. They played out on his retinas against his will. He wanted to curl up in a ball and stay here, just lay down and die. He wanted to be numb.

Cassandra grabbed his arm and kept pulling him forward. “The more adversity we face, the closer we are to victory.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep Jasper marching.

When they finally faced the Nightmare, Jasper didn’t even have enough energy left to be glad it was dead. It was one tough motherfucker. At least when it disappeared, it dropped a pile of glittering stones. Upon closer inspection, however, Jasper realized they were his rings, the ones he’d lost so long ago. He snorted in dry amusement and picked them up, slipping the dozen rings back into their proper places, glad to finally have their familiar weight on his hands once more. He was a bit of a sentimental fucker, after all, and he was delighted to have them back. Though he could’ve gone without the hike through Demon Town.

“That couldn’t have been the last of it,” Solas warned. “That was merely an aspect of the Nightmare.”

Jasper was inspecting his rings, trying to regain his breath. “Fuck everything. I want out. Let’s go before it comes back.”

They trekked up the rise to the sparkling rift above them, trying to ignore the fact that they’d now all heard Jasper’s dirty laundry. Perhaps they didn’t know why he was so afraid of a woman named Auntie and why her spirit would haunt him, or about the guilt that ate him up about Laila - he wasn’t even sure if she was dead or alive - or the wicked things he’d done to survive. But they knew more than he wanted them to. They knew too much about each other all around.

Cassandra leapt through the rift, Varric close behind her, followed by Solas. Jasper reached down to help Indira up onto the ledge of rock, Hawke right behind her. Then they heard it. Worst, they saw it. The Nightmare’s true form: a huge, hulking spider with a thousand glittering eyes and long legs that stepped between them and the rift, emerging from the mist around them.

“We need to clear a path!” Indira said, hefting her greatsword in her arms, eyeing the demon with hatred.

“Go!” Hawke said, twirling her staff in hand. “I’ll cover you!”

“No,” Indira said. “This is the Grey Warden’s fault. A Warden must - “

“A Warden must help them rebuild!” Hawke interrupted. “That’s your job! Don’t pussy out now, Indira.”

Jasper looked between them both. “The world needs you both. I can stay -”

“Don’t act stupid, Inquisitor,” Indira snapped. “Without you, there is no way of defeating Corypheus. I’ll stay.”

“This demon is my responsibility,” Hawke insisted. “I should’ve made sure I killed Corypheus the first time.”

Jasper stared at the demon looming over them. “Hawke...I’m so sorry. I don’t want to choose, but...you’re right. Indira needs to help the Wardens.”

Hawke gave Jasper a small, sad smile. “This is a sacrifice I’m proud to make. Tell Varric I said goodbye.” Then Hawke leapt forward, catching the attention of the Nightmare and leading it away. “Spiders. Why is it always the Maker-damned spiders? Hey! Spider! Over here!”

Jasper and Indira sprinted forward, underneath the belly of the spider as Hawke cast spell after spell at it, ripping at its soft carapace with the blade of her staff. Jasper didn’t get to see what became of her as he followed Indira through the rift, getting sucked up into a vacuum of space. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t move. It felt like his body was being compressed into its smallest possible components before he landed on his face on the stone in the main hall of Adamant Fortress.

The Inquisition forces were barely stemming the tide of demons. Jasper clambered to his feet and squeezed his hand shut, teeth gritted against the pain, the rift behind him shutting with a bang that sent several soldiers flying back off their feet, each and every demon screaming. He kept squeezing, felt blood running from a nostril, until every single demon in the fortress was dead, melted into goo, returning to their damned home in the Fade.

The soldiers were cheering. They were victorious. Jasper rubbed the blood from his nose, smearing it across his face, limping away to brace himself against the wall, clutching at his ribs. He’d definitely broken something. And his ankle was all wonky, too.

“Inquisitor!” a scout called, keeping up with him. “The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious and injured, but still alive.”

“Pity,” Jasper spat, gasping with pain. “For him. He’s going to wish he’d never been born. Where are the others?”

As if on cue, Varric and Cassandra came running forward, injured with mostly minor scrapes and cuts that had been tended to. “Fluffy! You made it. Where’s Hawke?” Varric asked, looking around as if his best friend would pop out from behind a corpse.

Jasper felt his throat close. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t force the words out, looking at the dwarf, a man he’d really come to consider a close friend. Jasper closed his mouth and licked his lips, voice coming out a hoarse whisper, eyes stinging. “I’m...sorry. The demon returned full-force. She stayed behind to buy us time to escape. Varric, I…”

Varric stared up at Jasper as if not understanding, mouth slightly open. He looked away, around at the others, at Indira, whose eyes were wet, and then down at his feet. “Well…” Jasper reached out to him, but Varric turned away, walking quickly to leave them all behind. Jasper watched him go, wondering why he burned all his bridges. Why he killed everyone who cared about him.

Jasper straightened, sweating with the effort. He could wallow in self-pity later; right now, he needed to get the job done. “Indira, you need to organize the Wardens. You’re the most senior surviving Grey Warden. Since you all are still vulnerable to Corypheus, go do something useful like kill demons. Plenty of those to go around.”

“After all this, you’re giving them another chance?” Cassandra asked in disbelief.

Jasper shrugged. “Look, your Inquisitor is a prostitute-turned-bandit, you don’t get to decide and judge who gets a second chance and who doesn’t.”

“I must return to Weisshaupt, then,” Indira said, dabbing at her eyes hastily. “Thank you, Inquisitor. The Grey Wardens owe you a great debt.” She bowed with her fist over her heart before leaving, gathering the Grey Wardens as she did.

Finally, Jasper collapsed, nearly falling flat on his ass, if it weren’t for Cassandra. “You need a healer immediately,” she said with concern as he gasped in pain. She lifted him up bodily and carried him away, past soldiers who were collecting their own fallen comrades.

“I can walk, Cassandra,” Jasper insisted, but he wasn’t really sure he could. Still, she set him down to preserve his waning dignity, and he leaned heavily on her, going slowly through the ramparts and down the stairs, leaving the fortress behind them.

“Inquisitor!” Iron Bull called, pushing through soldiers. “Shit, I thought you were a goner for sure! Good to see you in one piece.”

Jasper felt relief flood through him. “Oh, thank the Maker, you’re alive. I was so sure - I thought you were right behind us when we fell, and then I didn’t see you in the Fade - holy shit -”

“Slow down, Jas,” Iron Bull said, eyeing him. “The Fade? What happened?”

Jasper blinked. He didn’t want to relive it any time soon. “Where’s Dorian? Is he alive, too?”

Iron Bull was still eyeing Jasper when Dorian appeared around the corner of a tent, wiping his bloody hands with a pinkened rag. He froze when he saw Jasper, eyes wide with shock and relief. He didn’t move. Just stared at Jasper and swallowed. Cassandra and Iron Bull shared a look.

“Bull, I’ll explain what happened,” she said, shouldering off Jasper and forcing him into Dorian’s bewildered and alarmed arms. “Dorian, get him to a healer.”

Jasper opened his mouth to protest, but Iron Bull and Cassandra were already gone, disappearing into the crowds of soldiers. Jasper pouted as he leaned on Dorian, and Dorian reluctantly put his arm around Jasper, supporting him as they trudged through the maze of tents to the healer’s tent.

Jasper wanted to burst into tears, so relieved was he that Dorian had survived, but he kept it tightly together, afraid to show any emotion around him after their little debacle. Big debacle. _The_ debacle. He reasoned it away, telling himself that it was because, despite so much, Dorian was his friend and his comrade.

A spot was cleared immediately for Jasper, even as he protested and resisted, insisting there were others in far more dire need than him, that the healers’ efforts should go to the more severely injured.

“Hon, if you haven’t noticed, you’re spitting up blood,” a stern-faced healer said with finality as Dorian held Jasper down so he wouldn’t try to vacate the cot again. “Punctured lung, no doubt. Broken ribs, broken nose, broken ankle. You’re in shit shape, hon. Just sit down before you make it worse. The more you struggle, the longer it’ll take me to treat you, which means the longer it’ll be until I can treat the next patient. Do we understand each other?”

Jasper opened his mouth to protest, but clicked it shut; she had a very valid point. He wasn’t used to people speaking like that to him anymore, and he pouted about it as he laid back and allowed her to bend over him, examining him with glowing blue hands, muttering to herself. She clicked her tongue as she turned to the side table, mixing together liquid and herbs.

“Just as I thought, hon,” she said, nodding. “Just wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed any internal injuries. Right lung,” she pointed out to Dorian, running her glowing fingers over the spot. Jasper hissed with pain. “Seventh, sixth, and fifth ribs are broken. One’s poking into his lung. Easy fix - for me, not him. Keep his head elevated, don’t need him choking on his own blood. Heal his nose - or maybe don’t, you said you don’t have much experience in healing magic. Don’t want a leader with a crooked nose. Wouldn’t suit his pretty face, anyway.”

Jasper was blushing furiously at being talked about like that. He was also blushing as Dorian’s soft, careful, warm hands supported his head, propping it on his knee since they had no pillows to spare. Jasper tried not to look directly upward at Dorian’s chin. Why was Dorian being so nice, so sweet, so soft and caring? After all the horrible things Jasper had said to him?

“Take this, for the pain,” the healer instructed, tipping a vial back into Jasper’s mouth. He spluttered on it. It was revolting. “It’s better than the pain, hon, believe me.”

The healing magic was soothing, but the act of knitting his ribs back together and repairing his lung, his nose, and his ankle was no fun at all. It was excruciating, even with the painkiller potion. Jasper didn't want to know what it was like without it. He was squeezing something with his hand as tightly as he could, teeth gritted against the pain, wishing he could just black out so he wouldn’t have to experience this, but alas. He’d dealt with worse.

“There, there,” Dorian soothed, running fingers through Jasper’s hair as the healer finished up. Jasper tensed, realized he was holding Dorian’s hand, squeezing it as tight as a vise. Jasper dropped it hastily. “She’s all done.”

The healer stood up and brushed her hands together. “Yep. Alright, Inquisitor, take it easy. No rough or _strenuous_ activity for a week, at least. I’ve got a stock of painkiller potions for you while the bones finish mending themselves. And I swear to the Maker, herald or no, I will knock you flat on your ass if you ruin the work I’ve put in on you. Now rest, hon.”

She nodded and left them there. Jasper moved away from Dorian, fighting the red blush spreading up his neck and over his cheeks. “Thanks,” he mumbled, not looking at the mage.

Dorian nodded and stood up. “You need to rest. I...should go.”

Fear grasped Jasper’s heart like a squeezing hand as he remembered the horrors of the last several hours. The terror and the darkness and the loneliness. “Please don’t,” he pleaded, looking up at Dorian finally, eyes wide and desperate, utterly vulnerable. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Dorian sighed and sat back down, looking uncomfortable. No doubt reliving the harsh words Jasper had thrown at him just a few weeks ago. Jasper fidgeted, wishing he could fall asleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the green of the Fade, he saw Hawke being left behind, he saw the glittering eyes of the Nightmare, he saw himself having to kill Laila, Augustus, and Dorian, over and over again, as he had struck them down in the Fade. He saw the night he’d actually killed Augustus, on repeat, like a loop.

He saw his mother dying, his clan being slaughtered. He saw himself, a child, forced into prostitution. Being beaten and abused and hurt. He saw Auntie, taunting him. He saw himself never escaping her.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Dorian wiped away his tears with a handkerchief. He looked up at Dorian, feeling embarrassed, but reassured by Dorian’s gentle squeeze of his hand. “Fuck, Dorian,” he said as he started to cry harder, covering his face with a hand, twinging as he brushed his sore nose. “I want to die.”

Dorian rubbed a thumb over Jasper’s hand. “Don’t say that, Inquisitor. We need you.”

The words hurt more than comforted. _Inquisitor_ , not Jasper. We, not I. Jasper screwed up his face against the tears and tried to stem them, not wanting Dorian to see him so vulnerable anymore. He’d botched up everything, but at the very least, he could stop embarrassing himself in front of him.

“Tell me what happened,” Dorian said softly. “If you want.”

Jasper took a shuddering breath. “We were in the Fade. Physically in the Fade. Like when the Breach happened. Like Corypheus claims he’s been. It was horrific. We were in the realm of a nightmare demon, and I...kept reliving the worst moments of my life, over and over. I kept seeing things that hadn’t happened, at least not yet. I saw you, Dorian.”

He felt the mage draw back from him, and looked up to see a look of hurt flash across Dorian’s face. Jasper reached for his hand. He didn’t know why he wanted to explain himself, but he had to. “Not...not like that. I saw myself kill you. And you were begging me to spare you, just like Augustus did. Dorian, so many fucking people have died because of me. Everyone who loves me dies because of me. My mom, Augustus, Laila, Hawke…I don’t want you to join that list.”

Dorian sat back down and held Jasper’s hand tightly. “I’m not going anywhere. I still love you, Jasper, and I want to be by your side. You can push me away and tell me you hate me, but I still...I still love you. Sometimes...especially in the last few weeks...I wish I didn’t. I wish I could hate you, because it would be so much easier.”

Jasper started crying harder, lip trembling, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “So stop loving me! Hate me, for Maker’s sake, please!”

Dorian cupped Jasper’s cheek with his other hand. “I can’t.”

Jasper choked on a sob, pressing his hand across his eyes desperately to stop the tears. “I’m no good for you, Dorian. Think about it. All the horrible things I’ve done in my life. I’ve killed people just to prove I could. I’m pathetic. You deserve someone so much better than me, someone who isn’t so fucked up and...broken.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Dorian insisted, leaning closer, pulling Jasper’s hand away from his eyes so he could see the earnestness in Dorian’s clear gray eyes. “I want _you_ , Jasper, no matter what sort of trauma you’ve got in your past, or what’ll happen in your future.”

“What about Iron Bull?” Jasper challenged, looking away, embarrassed at how petty he sounded. How hurt he sounded.

Dorian blushed. “That? You know about…?” He huffed. “I was upset. You _had_ rejected my confession rather forcefully. I got drunk and he...offered to take my mind off things. No strings attached.”

Jasper mulled it over. Jasper had been worse, meaner and pettier; Jasper had sought out sex to take his mind off things, but that was putting it mildly. He’d wanted to get back at Dorian. He bit his lip to stave off the surge of guilt that shot up his throat like bile.

“I doubt you remained chaste the last few weeks,” Dorian scoffed, trying to make light.

Jasper blushed, looking away and then back and then away again. “No, you’re right. I fucked around a lot. Another reason why you should turn tail and run, honestly. But…” He took a breath and sighed it out, annoyed with the guilt, just wanting to get it off his chest, scared of Dorian’s reaction. When he spoke, it was all out in a rush, quiet. “I fucked Ned the librarian in your chair.”

“Pardon?” Dorian said, tilting his head to the side, eyes narrowed. Jasper was so scared to repeat himself. This was it. This was where Dorian would finally turn away and be done with him, because Jasper was a literal piece of shit. Which was what Jasper wanted, but over the last few minutes, he’d been considering that perhaps...if Dorian really wanted him that badly...maybe they could make this work.

“I fucked Ned in your chair in the library,” Jasper admitted, squeezing his eyes closed. “I was just...really angry at you. Which was unfair, I didn’t really have a right to feel angry. This was before...you told me that you had feelings for me. I’m sorry. He wasn’t as good as you, though.”

Dorian was so quiet that Jasper thought he’d left for a moment. But when Jasper opened his eyes, he was still sitting there, expression unreadable. “In my _chair_?”

Jasper grimaced. “Yes.”

Dorian made a disgusted face. “Please tell me he didn’t get any cum on it.”

“Uh - no, he didn’t,” Jasper said. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Yes,” Dorian admitted, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “But I suppose I understand why you did it. It was petty. But I’m petty, too, so I don’t know if I can judge. We’ll just have to rechristen it when we return to Skyhold. I - that is - I mean - if you want to.”

“Are you serious?” Jasper asked, sitting up slightly. “You’re not gonna start ignoring me again?”

Dorian shook his head with a small smile. “I like you far too much to be successful at that endeavor, you know. It was rather difficult to keep away from you these past few weeks. However...we should probably talk about...how things will be.”

Jasper raised a single eyebrow. “Go on.”

Dorian was fidgeting now. “Look, I know that I haven’t been the only person you’ve been fucking over the last several months. I’ve heard the rumors, though if you listen to them, your body count since the whole debacle at Haven is in the hundreds.” Jasper moved his head from side to side, considering, trying to calculate it. “Please tell me it was an exaggeration.”

Jasper smiled sheepishly. “Perhaps it’s a tad embellished.”

Dorian shook his head, chuckling. “Ambitious. But if we’re going to...give this a shot, I want us to be exclusive, Jasper. I’ve...I’ve never had a real, proper relationship, if I’m being honest. But I want one, with you, and I don’t want to share.”

Jasper felt something in his chest stir at the possessiveness in Dorian’s voice. It was kind of hot. “Deal. What about threesomes?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Maybe. We’ll have to see.”

“That’s not a no,” Jasper teased with a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t push your luck,” Dorian warned, running a thumb over Jasper’s cheekbone. “Your good looks will only get you so far.”

“It’s pretty far, though,” he said with a waggle of his brows. “You’ve got to admit it. I just have one question.” Dorian raised an eyebrow curiously. “Did you bottom for Iron Bull?”

“Could you imagine me topping him?” Dorian responded, avoiding the question, really. Jasper didn’t look away, just pouted. Dorian sighed. “Yes, I bottomed. Why?”

“You never bottomed for me,” Jasper whined. “Why?”

Dorian looked uncomfortable now. “Do we have to have this discussion here, now?”

Jasper looked around at the sickbeds and bustling healers. There was enough of a din in the healer’s tent that no one could overhear their hushed conversation. Jasper shrugged, pouting. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Dorian sighed. “I had a bad experience when I was younger. Bottoming. I was in school, sixteen, a virgin. He was much older and much more experienced - not the boy I told you about before, in Redcliffe - and I was really stupid and let him take advantage of me. He...didn’t prep, didn’t talk to me, didn’t check in with me afterwards. I...I rarely take it since then. In fact, Iron Bull was the first time since then, if I’m being honest. It’s not as bad as I remember, but that’s probably because Bull was careful and gentle.”

Jasper reached for Dorian’s hand and pressed the back of it to his lips lightly. “I’m sorry, Dorian. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s nothing, Jasper, really,” he insisted. “It was almost fifteen years ago.”

“That doesn’t make the hurt any less painful.”

Dorian clicked his tongue. “Now you just sound like Cole. Why don’t you get some sleep, Jasper? You’ve been through hell today.” He made to stand up, but Jasper pulled him back down and pressed a kiss to his lips, softly.

“Dorian, I really am sorry for everything I said to you,” Jasper said, choking up a little. He took a breath. “I just...I don’t want to hurt you, really, and I’m...I am afraid that that’s all I know how to do.”

Dorian kissed him again and pulled back. “I’m not that fragile, you know. We’ll figure this out together.”

Jasper watched him go, feeling a bizarre warmth in his chest. He rolled over to try to get some sleep, and did not see the nightmares on his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i edited this high while listening to thin lizzy so uhhh
> 
> also sorry for the late update i rewrote most of this!!!!! exciting. also for the healing scene i know NOTHING abt medicinal practices at all deadass i just made this up as i went along so don't fucking @ me
> 
> anyway yeah i'm bad at slowburn fucking sue me. i want my boys to be in love already. it's a bumpy rode but this bitch believes in effective communication techniques. kiss kiss fall in love.


	17. Cuddles n' Shit

Jasper felt rather daring and bold, if he was being perfectly honest, inviting Dorian to share his tent that night. They couldn’t do much beyond kissing and petting, the healer’s ominous threats hanging over them both. Jasper was just glad to have Dorian’s hands on him again, something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing during their brief separation. Better than that, though, was just sleeping together. Not having sex or jerking each other off or going down. Just laying side by side, spooning, cuddling. Jasper couldn’t remember the last time he’d just lain in someone else’s arms like this, let them pet his hair, and was content.

Jasper had his face pressed to Dorian’s bare chest, the man already fast asleep, arms around Jasper loosely. Jasper was listening to his steady heartbeat, slowly drifting to sleep, when he noticed the pace of his heart growing faster and faster, and Dorian’s arm started twitching. Jasper looked up at him, the mage’s face twisted, and Jasper thought for a moment maybe he was having a wet dream? But then Dorian started talking, thrashing, and Jasper realized he was in the Fade, and not a good part of the Fade.

“No, no, no, no,” Dorian muttered over and over, shaking his head and pushing away at Jasper, shoving him back with force. “Don’t take him!”

Jasper reached for Dorian, grabbing his hands, trying to wake him up. “Dorian! Wake up!” He didn’t know what to do; Laila had been a sleepwalker, and sometimes reacted violently if Jasper tried to wake her when she was up and about. Jasper didn’t want to scare Dorian, didn’t want Dorian to hurt himself or Jasper accidentally. Jasper just pulled him closer, gently, making soothing shushing noises as he hugged Dorian to him, easing him back down to their shared bedroll. “It’s okay, Dorian, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”

He kept stroking Dorian’s hair, his arms, his back, until slowly Dorian drifted back to sleep. Jasper watched his face smooth out and heard his heartbeat return to normal. Jasper wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep now. He kept glancing up at Dorian, kept rubbing his arm soothingly. Then Dorian started to stir, not long after his little nightmare, though this time he was waking up properly, not scared or thrashing. He seemed slightly confused at first, then glanced down at Jasper and gained his bearings.

“ _Amatus_ , why are you still awake?” he asked blearily, voice husky with sleep. “It must be the middle of the night.”

Jasper shrugged, tightening his arms around Dorian, and kissed his chest. He wondered what that word meant, but decided to leave it for another time. Sounded like Tevene. “Can’t sleep. What about you? You okay? You had a nightmare earlier. You were talking and everything.”

Dorian frowned, running a hand through Jasper’s curls. “I did have a nightmare. The veil here is too damned thin, is all. The nightmare demon is still alive, I’m sure, though likely licking its wounds. It can still get to us in dreams, though. Especially mages.”

“What was it about?” Jasper asked. “Your nightmare. If you want to tell, I mean. You don’t have to.”

Dorian sighed, his breath ruffling Jasper’s dark hair. His cheeks were a little pink. “You. I...was reliving the moment you fell from that platform in Adamant. I saw it happen, you know, saw the platform fall out from under you, and you, tumbling in the air, helpless. And then there was a rift and you disappeared. I thought you were dead. Gone forever. I nearly leapt after you, but Iron Bull stopped me. Stupid, I know, but it was a knee-jerk reaction.”

Jasper cupped Dorian’s cheek in his hand. “You’re a lot more sentimental than you let on, you know,” he teased, reaching up to kiss his lips lightly. “It’s cute. I’m sorry I scared you, though. But death doesn’t seem to stick well to me, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Dorian chuckled, returning the kiss eagerly. “I have, actually. You’re very talented that way.”

“And in many other ways, too, I hope,” Jasper replied huskily, reaching between them to grasp Dorian’s cock in his hand. Dorian groaned quietly, eyes fluttering as Jasper pumped his length slowly, torturously. Jasper took his hand off to spit in his hand and returned it to Dorian’s cock, running his thumb over the tip and swiping up the precum. He used his other hand to tweak Dorian’s nipples, alternating sides, and sped his hand up, stroking faster and harder. Dorian’s breath turned labored as Jasper worked him, growing hard himself, wishing Dorian could take him, but knowing that he really was in no shape for sex.

Jasper moved his hand from Dorian’s perky nipples to between his legs, fondling his balls with a light touch. Dorian moaned, stuffing his fist in his mouth to muffle it, very aware of the numerous tents around them filled with sleeping inhabitants. He bit down on his knuckles as Jasper kissed his neck, ghosting his lips over the sensitive skin. He ran a finger around Dorian’s entrance and he bucked right up into Jasper’s hand with a loud moan.

Jasper grinned at Dorian’s blush. “Eager, hmm?” he teased, then bit the edge of Dorian’s jaw where it met his ear. “Once I get a clean bill of health, I’ll fuck you good, Pavus. I bet I could make you come without even touching your cock or balls. Just my dick inside you.” He hummed as Dorian bucked into his hand again. “Maybe we can get some toys. I bet you’ve never used any.”

Dorian laughed breathlessly. “I saw your beads on the desk when I arrived unannounced for our lesson a few weeks ago. I got _instantly_ hard, especially when you tried to hide them. Like a horny teenager, for pity’s sake.”

Jasper bit his lip on a groan and started pumping Dorian faster, slipping a finger into his entrance slowly. Dorian was gasping, and Jasper captured his mouth with a kiss, biting on his lip as he twisted his hand, switching to playing with Dorian’s balls. Dorian tensed up, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open with a loud moan he was barely keeping concealed behind his fist. Jasper watched Dorian’s face flicker through feelings of bliss as he came, his hot seed spurting out in hot bands across Jasper’s hands and both their torsos.

When Dorian opened his eyes, he saw Jasper raise his cum-slicked fingers to his mouth and lick them clean. It was the most erotic thing he’d possibly ever seen. Jasper leaned down and licked Dorian’s belly clean, wiped his own torso down with a finger, licking off every drop of cum. If Jasper kept this up, Dorian would be hard again. He grabbed Jasper by the chin and pulled him close, kissing him breathless, reveling in the taste of himself on his lover’s tongue.

“If every night is like this, we might not be getting very much sleep any time soon,” Dorian remarked, tucking Jasper against him once more, hand squeezing his arse.

“Functioning on very little sleep is another one of my talents,” Jasper yawned before nodding off, feeling safe nestled against Dorian.

***  
A contingent of soldiers remained behind at Adamant to sort through things there. The rest of them that were well enough to travel left the following day, and Jasper insisted he go with them. He wasn’t _that_ injured, and he’d be damned if he stayed in this desert any longer. As it was, he was sunburning terribly, and freckles were cropping up across his nose and cheeks in droves. It was horrific.

“Oh, stop fretting,” Dorian chastised as Jasper eyed himself in the mirror, picking at his skin. “You look fine.”

“I _hate_ freckles,” Jasper seethed, glaring at his reflection. “They make me look like an infant.”

“I think they’re cute,” Dorian said, studying Jasper’s face. Jasper pouted, but leaned in to kiss the tip of Dorian’s nose. Dorian blinked in surprise, the look on his face like a child first seeing magic.

“What?” Jasper chuckled. “Never been kissed on the nose?”

Dorian cleared his throat, a blush on his cheeks. “No, actually, never. Jasper, I wasn’t lying stoically when I said I’ve never done this before. And it’s not like I have any background to figure this out with. My parents were...less than adoring. They barely tolerated each other, so I never saw any displays of affection between them.”

Jasper frowned, then cupped his cheek in his hand. “You’ll pick up the basics of it soon enough, I’m sure. Hopefully sooner rather than later. I like PDA and cuddling. A lot.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. The man who insists he’s a no-good bandit and unfit to be loved _adores_ being cuddled in public.”

Jasper waggled his eyebrows as he pocketed the mirror and went to mount his horse, Dorian right behind him; the chaos of camp being broken down muffled their conversation. “If we’re going to be in a relationship, Dorian, I want people to know. I mean, I get people wanting to keep their relationships private - they don’t want people to gossip. I don’t like hiding, though. I want to show you off. _Us_ off. Together. I want people to know you’re _mine_.”

Dorian’s entire face was red, creeping down his neck now. “That’s...a bit much, isn’t it? I mean - I’d rather there be something for people to gossip about, than nothing at all, but…”

“Everyone’s been gossiping for _months_ ,” Jasper said with exasperation. “Everyone already knows we’ve been fucking. They just wanted to know if there was more to it than just that. And I’d rather be forward about it than deal with the way people look at you - because I notice the absolutely _lurid_ looks you get - or with even _more_ propositions for me from nobles.”

“Propositions?” Dorian asked curiously as he swung up onto his steed beside Jasper, fighting a blush from his face. Had Jasper really noticed the way some men, usually drunk ones, had noticed him? Was he jealous? The stablehands untied their horses, and the two of them joined the trail of soldiers marching back to Skyhold. “Do tell.”

Jasper was blushing a little now, but he grinned. “Josephine doesn’t even let the letters get to my desk, she just informs me about them. There are some nobles out there - men and women, mind you - who are simply _desperate_ to have me as their consort. Of course, me being an elf, I could never marry into the nobility, but that doesn’t seem to bother them overly much, as they’re content to just add me to their collection of concubines. Who knew I was such a catch?”

Dorian purred, “Pity for them, isn’t it?”

Jasper turned to hide the soft smile on his face. “You’ll have to fight them off at the Winter Palace, you know. Leliana sent me a letter that we have secured an invitation to the ball Empress Celene is throwing in a few months’ time. So while fighting off assassins, we’ll also be fighting off nobles who want to bone me.”

Dorian barked out a laugh, and Jasper found himself staring. So often, Dorian only released measured, controlled chuckles. Jasper liked his full laugh, unhindered by what others might think about him. He even had a dimple in one cheek, which Jasper found so much more adorable than having freckles.

There were a lot of whispers following them around as they had started talking again, especially since they also started sharing a tent. Jasper was fairly certain he had seen coin changing hands more than once as people grumbled about Dorian and Jasper - that they should’ve shacked up sooner, or not at all, or later. Jasper had tried to ignore it, but when he had seen Varric sighing heavily as he passed a bag of coins to Cullen, Jasper couldn’t resist.

“Excuse me for intruding, gentlemen,” Jasper interjected as he snuck up on the two of them, making them jump. “Varric, are you just handing out bags of money? Where can I get in on this?”

The two men at least looked a little sheepish. “Er,” Cullen said uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That is…”

“We were taking bets on how long it would take you and Sparky to finally stop beating around the bush and start seeing each other exclusively,” Varric said without batting an eyelash. “If you hadn’t rejected him last month, I would be fifty sovereigns richer right now, Inquisitor.”

Jasper rolled his eyes, folding his arms, and fought a smile, simultaneously pleased and annoyed. Had _everyone_ known that Dorian had been pining for him? Why hadn’t anyone clued him in? Had they all assumed he’d been leading him on purposely? “Don’t you all have better things to do?”

Varric shrugged. “It cuts the tension. At least there’s one bright spot in all this shittiness.”

Jasper was blushing now and ran a hand through his hair as he looked away, hiding the smile that crept on his lips whenever he thought about Dorian. “Yeah. I’m as surprised as you are, honestly, that I managed to find someone like him, especially in the midst of all this bullshit. Considering what a shitty person I am. But...he...makes me happy, I guess. Now that I’m letting him.”

“You’re nauseating,” Varric said with mock disgust. He clapped Jasper’s arm. “I’m happy for you, though. If any of us deserve something good, it’s you.”

Jasper looked between the two of them. “You’re both disgustingly sentimental. Now stop taking bets on us.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied with a barely-hidden smirk, the coin purse jingling as he pocketed it.

***  
Back at Skyhold weeks later, it was almost business as usual. Preparations were being made for the ball at the Winter Palace. Josephine insisted that they all had to wear matching uniforms, not their usual armor or their finer clothing.

“Dorian and Madam Vivienne are perhaps the only ones with suitable clothing for interacting with nobility and royalty at such an event,” Josephine pointed out during one meeting when Jasper complained too much for her liking. She spoke rather sternly, as if Jasper were a petulant child. Which he kind of was. “You are not going in...whatever it is you deem to be proper attire.”

Jasper waggled his eyebrows at her. “What about my birthday suit?”

“Absolutely not!” she said shrilly as Cullen muffled a laugh into a cough. “Inquisitor, please do try not to give me a heart attack. This is the most important function of the year, vitally important to stop Corypheus, and every eye will be upon us, particularly _you_. I beg you to not kill me before it happens.”

Jasper snickered. “No promises.”

Josephine sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers as if she could will away Jasper’s incessant annoyingness. “Well. I suppose that may be the best I’ll get out of you. Now, the tailors will be here tomorrow for fittings. Your time slot will be two o’clock _precisely_. If I have to go looking for you and find you and Dorian - in such a compromising position - _again_ , I’m not sure I will be able to resist the urge to bleach my eyes.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand. We’re both very attractive men. You’re saying you don’t dig it?”

Josephine hid her blush behind her clipboard. “I’m saying that you are both my friends and I don’t want to see you like that again. I didn’t even know elves could be so flexible...Nevermind. Leliana, I believe you had something to address?”

“Yes,” she agreed, stepping forward with a slight smile on her face at her friend’s discomfort. “I’ve invited three different expert rogues with various specializations to Skyhold, Inquisitor, to train you further. You are incredibly talented, but they can hone you into a perfect weapon. Meet with them when you have time. They’ll be waiting.”

“Is that everything?” Jasper asked impatiently, mind wandering toward his lover and wondering what he was up to just then.

“There is the matter of...Erimond,” Cullen reminded Jasper, spitting the name like poison. “He sits in our dungeons, awaiting judgment.”

Jasper shrugged. “Chuck him off the nearest parapet, for all I care.”

Cullen sighed. “Much as I’d like to, you must sit in judgment. I know you feel uncomfortable with it, but this is something you should do publically.”

Jasper grimaced. “Fuck, okay. I guess. Let’s do it after my fittings tomorrow, I’ll be in a foul enough mood by then to give him what he deserves.”

The coldness in Jasper’s voice unsettled all of them, and they shared a glance before Josephine dismissed them all.

Jasper sought out Dorian, but couldn’t find him in the library or the gardens. He checked the Herald’s Rest, hoping that Dorian hadn’t started drinking _this_ early - that usually meant something was quite wrong, and Jasper worried his lip as he wondered, glancing around the fairly empty tavern. Jasper avoided Iron Bull’s one good eye, still uncomfortably aware of that whole debacle, and how much Iron Bull knew of Jasper’s private life. Dorian claimed they’d just fucked around the one time, no strings attached, but Jasper was a little nervous to confront him about this, to make sure Iron Bull hadn’t gone catching feelings.

“Hey, Boss,” Iron Bull called out across the near-empty bar, making Jasper wince. Damn. He’d thought he was stealthier, but very little got past the qunari spy. “A word?”

“What’s up?” Jasper asked, plopping down into a chair that was turned around, so he could lean his arms on the back of it, jiggling his leg to ease his anxiety.

Iron Bull studied him with his single good eye. “So. You and the ‘Vint, huh?”

Jasper ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable. “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

“I’m just surprised he went back to you after how you rejected him,” Iron Bull commented evenly. “He was pretty upset about it.”

“Yeah, well, me too,” Jasper said truthfully. “Surprised, that is. That he...gave me another chance.”

“Hmm,” Iron Bull murmured. “I know you’ve got your issues. And Dorian’s got his. I don’t want to deal with him, again, drunk and crying after a messy breakup. Not that it’s my business…”

Jasper flushed indignantly. “We’re not breaking up any time soon, Bull. I really do like Dorian. We’re just...both a little unused to this shit.”

Iron Bull grunted, nodding. “I know. He’s in the underforge, if you were wondering.”

Jasper nodded and stood up. “I appreciate the concern, Bull, but I just wanted to make it clear that...Dorian wants us to be exclusive.”

Iron Bull nodded, chuckling. “Don’t you worry, Boss. I hear ya. No need to be concerned about me.”

Jasper felt a little awkward, standing there, so he offered a little wave and headed back out into the sun, heading back up the long set of stairs into the keep proper. The underforge was down a long set of stairs within, which was stupid and redundant, but what could you do? At least he was rewarded with a beautiful view: the underforge overlooked a lovely waterfall in the side of the mountain Skyhold was built upon.

Dorian and Dagna were bending over some schematics together when Jasper entered the underforge, a cool breeze off the waterfall against his skin. The two didn’t seem to hear the door open and close. They were talking excitedly about magical theory and lyrium and runes, and potential applications to create weapons or defenses out of their combined research. Jasper traipsed silently down the steps to approach, not wanting to interrupt their nerdy little meeting. It was really rather cute. But almost as if he had a sixth sense, Dorian’s head perked up as Jasper approached, a smile spreading across his lovely lips.

“Amatus,” he greeted warmly, reaching for Jasper instinctively. Jasper drew close to him, sidling up until they were touching, rather pleased with the PDA. “Dagna here is an absolute _genius_. Where did you find her?”

Dagna beamed with pride, her small, round face bright with excitement as she shuffled through the various ideas she’d sketched out.

“Leliana said she knew her,” Jasper replied with a shrug. “Back from her adventuring days with the Hero of Ferelden, before Divine Justinia.”

Dorian hummed, sliding an arm around Jasper, resting his hand on the small of his back. His touch delighted Jasper more than he’d care to admit. “It’s strange to think of her carousing about with the Hero of Ferelden, no? Especially now that we know the Hero personally?”

Jasper cast a look around, as if to make sure Leliana wasn’t around. “I think she and the Hero were _more_ than just travelling companions. I heard that things didn’t end well between them, post-destroying the Archdemon and the Blight.”

Dorian pouted. “Well, they did not seem eager to be reunited at all,” he sighed, letting go of Jasper and helping Dagna sort through the schematics and blueprints. “It’s weird to think of Leliana being in love with someone. But I suppose she is still human, at the end of the day.”

Jasper shrugged. “Is she, though? She doesn’t even laugh at my self-deprecating jokes.”

Once Dorian finished sorting the schematics back into their correct order, he took Jasper’s hand and started to lead him out of the undercroft. “We can go over these schematics later, Dagna, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course, Dorian!” she chirped. “Thanks for dropping by, Inquisitor.”

They crossed the entrance hall to Jasper’s quarters, ignoring the whispering nobles that always seemed to hang around, like they had nothing better to do. Jasper didn’t mind, really, but he knew that it made Dorian uncomfortable. Dorian didn’t like his personal business to be monitored by others, especially when it came to his relationships. Well, singular _relationship_. Since he’d never been in a proper one before. But he didn’t drop Jasper’s hand as they hurried across the hall.

They were kissing the moment they crossed the threshold, even before they’d closed the door behind them, Jasper desperate for Dorian’s touch. They couldn’t get enough of each other, particularly since solidifying their relationship just a few weeks ago. Jasper pulled Dorian up the stairs by the collar of the tunic under his robes, only breaking their kiss so he wouldn’t fall backwards on the stairs.

They crashed into the side of Jasper’s desk, clinging to each other tightly, Jasper’s fingers buried in Dorian’s soft hair, stroking the base of his skull with a finger. Dorian hummed, hands gripping Jasper’s hips like he was a lifeline. Jasper spread his legs and scooted onto the edge of the desk, sliding back along its surface so Dorian could stand between his legs, but he knocked over a pile of correspondence, sending it scattering across the floor with an inkpot. Dorian and Jasper jumped apart as the inkpot shattered, sending black liquid flying everywhere, their panting breath heavy in the air.

Dorian bent to pick up the correspondence even as Jasper whined and palmed himself through his trousers, eyeing Dorian’s rear as he straightened. “Forget it,” Jasper said, reaching for Dorian again. “Just set it aside, I don’t care.”

“Amatus,” Dorian said with pause, holding up a letter. “This says it’s from...your clan.”

Jasper furrowed his brow, mood soured. “Oh, the clan that left me for dead when I was kidnapped by slavers? Toss it in the fireplace and get back to kissing me.”

Dorian looked at the front of the envelope, addressed to Jasper from Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan. “You’re not even a little curious to know why they’re reaching out to you?”

Jasper shrugged, pulling his tunic off. “Probably money, or protection, or both. Better trade routes, or something.”

Dorian looked from the letter to him. “You don’t want to read what this Keeper person has to say?”

“No,” Jasper repeated with force. “Toss it in the fucking fire, and fuck me like a whore, Dorian.”

Dorian shook his head. “Jasper, you encouraged me to speak to my father and hear him out, even though all I wanted to do was run away. And at the very least, I know he doesn’t hate me, that he never hated me. I think you should give your people the same chance.”

Jasper sighed harshly. “Why? They never tried looking for me. I went through _years_ of hell because of them! I was raped and beaten and forced to do...horrible things,” he surmised, fighting a gag of bile that rose up his throat. “Why should I listen to a word they have to say?”

Dorian cupped Jasper’s face in his hand, stroking his cheek. “They’re your kin. They’ve finally found you. Look, I’ll read it, and I’ll let you know if it’s worth your time. If it’s trade routes, or something like that, I’ll toss it in the fire.”

Jasper looked away, uncertain and unhappy. He was already soft again. Why did Dorian have to push the topic? It utterly soured his mood. He shrugged. “Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want, then. I’m having a servant draw up a bath.” He left, shirtless, to go fetch a servant from the hall, irritation rolling off him in palpable waves that made Dorian gnaw his lower lip. A trait he’d picked up from Jasper.

Dorian slit open the envelope and read the message within.

_Inquisitor,_

_I am sorry to not have reached out prior to this letter. I understand you have severed all ties from our clan, and prefer to use no surname rather than associate yourself with us. I cannot blame you, based on the tragic accident that happened twenty years ago. I am sorry we could not have done more for you, and I know no amount of apologies will make things better. However, we have no one else to turn to right now._

_Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well-armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small, unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts - but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, it might save us much hardship._

The Keeper signed the bottom and left it at that. Dorian sighed, rubbing his chin. He understood there was really no way for them to have found Jasper after he’d been kidnapped and the slavers had left the vicinity. But from what Jasper had talked about, his mother had been there. She’d gone looking for him, alone. Probably against the wishes of her clan. So it wasn’t just his own misfortune he blamed them for.

A couple of servants came in with a clawfoot brass tub and set it down in the middle of the room. Dorian filled the tub with ice so the men wouldn’t have to trudge up and down the stairs drawing water, which would take forever. Then Dorian melted the ice with fire and tested the water with a finger as Jasper reentered the room, looking sulky.

“Oh,” Jasper breathed, unfolding his arms. “Thank you, Dorian.”

The servants left with a bow and Jasper immediately pulled off his trousers and slid into the deliciously hot bath, Dorian refolding the letter and setting it aside. “Room for two?” Dorian asked, pulling his robes off. Jasper opened his eyes halfway to ogle Dorian slowly stripping off his clothes, much to Jasper’s wicked delight. Jasper really couldn’t drum up the energy to remain pissed off at him. He hummed quietly as Dorian splashed into the water across from him, sighing with pleasure as the hot water soothed his aching muscles.

“What did the letter say?” Jasper asked at some length, withdrawing slightly in on himself.

Dorian sighed. “The keeper said they need help. They’re being attacked by bandits outside Wycome.”

Jasper shrugged, bending his legs and drawing his knees up to his chest. “Why should I help them?”

Dorian leaned forward and laid his palm on Jasper’s knees. “You don’t have to. You’re right, you owe them nothing. But we have the resources to help. We can prevent bloodshed.”

“My entire life has been baptized in bloodshed,” Jasper spat. “Why should I spare them that?”

Dorian sighed, pulling Jasper into his arms, situating his lover so Jasper’s back was against his chest and he could wrap his arms around him. He kissed the top of Jasper’s head, breathing in the scent of him: lavender and lemon, smooth and sweet and citrusy.

“I can’t make this choice for you, Jasper,” Dorian murmured. “Think on it.”

Jasper was tense in his arms, but as Dorian rubbed his arms and back with bath oils, he started to relax. “I hate this job, you know,” Jasper complained. “I hate having all this responsibility. Not just for the Inquisition’s people, or my clan. I mean, they’re obviously being targeted because of their affiliation with me. But I affect _everyone_. Every choice I make…” He sighed. “The only good thing that’s come out of this is you.”

Dorian hummed and squeezed Jasper’s shoulders. “I must admit I never expected to find anyone like you, especially when I ran from my home. I thought I was doomed to wandering in and out of brothels for the rest of my life, drunk as a skunk and not knowing when to quit at cards.”

Jasper leaned back into Dorian as the massage continued. “What was it like? To have a family? I mean, I know you and your folks aren’t on great terms, to put it lightly...but in general. To have a permanent home, not having to steal shit, having parents. Not that I’m trying to make you feel guilty, or anything. I just want to hear about you.”

Dorian sighed against Jasper’s hair. “It was mostly the servants who took care of me, honestly. Mother couldn’t be bothered. Not a maternal bone in her body. Or maybe there was, at some point, and it was broken when she was forced to marry a stranger she did not love. Resentment works in funny ways. Our manor house was far too large for so few people. It felt empty most of the time. Especially when my parents threw a soirée for their political machinations. All the bureaucrats and magisters, their wives and their children, like snakes waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, and I still felt utterly alone.

“My father didn’t really even care about me until I showed great propensity to magic at such a young age,” Dorian murmured, hands slowing but not stopping their work. “He wasn’t particularly interested in raising a child. Then it was tutors, lessons, nonstop testing. All of a sudden, he wanted to spend time with me, get to know me, what my interests were. And then there were more lessons, of course, and magical theory. I speak five languages, did you know that? If we’re counting Ancient Tevene.”

“What other languages?” Jasper asked, leaning his head back on Dorian’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“Modern Tevene, of course,” Dorian replied. “Along with Common, Orlesian, and Antivan.”

“That’s hot,” Jasper replied. “Speak dirty to me in Antivan next time we fuck. I promise you I’ll come in about five seconds.”

Dorian chuckled, kissing the spot behind Jasper’s ear, which made the elf shiver. “I’ll put that to the test later. Back to me, of course. I had no friends until my father sent me to the Circle when I was nine to begin my formal education. And oh, did I learn. You would not believe the number of altuses from good, respectable, high-ranking families that were hooking up with each other. Everyone was fucking. The trick was staying under the radar, and if you were a girl sleeping with a guy, to not get pregnant. Imagine the scandal.”

Jasper grinned and craned his neck to look at Dorian. “You’ve never had to deal with the fear of getting a girl pregnant, have you?”

“Never,” Dorian affirmed. “I’ve kissed a few girls in school, I’ll admit, I was curious, but I’ve never…”

“Done the nasty?” Jasper offered in a whisper, fishing for a euphemism, still smirking.

“Precisely,” Dorian said with a laugh, sliding his hands over Jasper’s arms. “You have, obviously.”

“Mhm,” Jasper hummed with a nod. “It’s nice. They’re so soft and smell good. And vaginas are weird, but also really nice. I love boobs, I wish I had them. But also not. Pregnancy scares, though, are no joke. I would be an absolute shit father.”

“You think so?” Dorian asked, kissing the back of Jasper’s neck, wondering if Jasper missed women’s bodies, if his was enough for him. “What was your dad like?”

“Never knew him,” Jasper sighed. “A hero, my mom told me. More accurately, some human adventurer with an elf kink and no sense of responsibility. At least he’s not a nobleman, though. Imagine that shit show.”

“What was your mom like?” Dorian asked, playing with Jasper’s hair. It was growing rather long again, a mere couple inches from his shoulders.

Jasper sighed. “Sweet. She sang to me a lot and told lots of stories. I did not gain her gift for storytelling, I ramble too much, though I’m a fair singer, I think. Don’t ask me to sing, though, I’ll only do it if I’m drunk.”

“Then I’ll have to get you drunk soon,” Dorian murmured, voice rumbling in Jasper’s chest. “I didn’t know you had a gift for music.”

Jasper smiled softly. “I used to play the guitar. At the brothel. Sometimes I had clients who...just wanted me to play music for them alone. No sex. It was so much worse, so much more intimate.”

Dorian’s arms stilled, wrapping loosely around Jasper. He pressed his face to the back of Jasper’s neck. He wanted to ask Jasper more about what it was like to have worked at a brothel against his will, but he didn’t want to bring up bad memories. “Would you play for me sometime? Or do I need to get you drunk for that, too?”

Jasper’s face was red as a tomato, and he was glad Dorian couldn’t see him. Jasper’s mouth was dry, his heart hammering, and he was sure Dorian heard it, could feel it. “Um...maybe. I don’t know. I’m out of practice. I haven’t played for anyone in a long time.” Not since Augustus.

“No pressure, _amatus_ ,” Dorian breathed, running a hand over Jasper’s chest. “We should finish our bath before the water gets too cold.”

Jasper hummed in agreement. “Alright, turn around then. You’ve spent all this time massaging me, now it’s your turn. Except this time we’re actually using soaps.”

Dorian was blushing a little. “Ah - sorry, I got distracted.”

Jasper grinned, standing on his knees to make room for Dorian to move so he was facing away. “I’m not complaining. I could use more massages in the future. If the Inquisition doesn’t work out for you, you could make a killing as a masseuse.”

Dorian snorted. “Mm, yes, who wouldn’t want an evil magister massaging them fully nude?” Then his face softened. “You know, no one’s washed me since I was a toddler. And even then, it was with no tenderness, no love. Just a resentful slave doing her duty of washing the spoiled altus mage.”

Jasper took a bar of soap and rubbed it over Dorian’s back, over the lean muscles and the scars that he’d gathered over the months of traipsing through the wilderness with the Inquisition. Jasper wondered which ones he’d gotten before, back when he was just a spoiled nobleman’s son, an altus awaiting his time to assume his father’s position in the magisterium. Jasper really wondered if Dorian had told himself, back then, that he would have been able to put off getting married forever. Or that he would’ve been able to court another man, in Tevinter, as the heir to the Pavus legacy. If he ever considered that he would have to leave his homeland, that his father would hate that part of him that much to try and change him. He wondered if Dorian ever had an inkling that he would fall in love with an elf like him, a rogue, a former bandit, an ex-prostitute. Jasper certainly never thought he would’ve fallen in love with a ‘Vint, especially one of the nobility.

“Dorian,” Jasper said softly as he moved to wash the soap over his chest and abdomen. His voice felt small. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Dorian put his hand over Jasper’s. “Me too. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in Thedas right now.”

Jasper rubbed the bar of soap in Dorian’s soft hair, carding his finger carefully through his locks, making the mage purr with pleasure. Jasper kept stroking his hair until the bathwater was cool, then washed him off, before quickly washing and rinsing his own wild curls.

Jasper was wringing his hair out, much longer now that the curls were waterlogged. “Think I need a haircut?”

Dorian leaned in and kissed him on the nose, surprising Jasper, but pleasantly so. He was learning. “I like your hair however you like it.”

“That’s a fucking copout answer, shithead,” Jasper snarked, sticking his tongue out. He clambered carefully out of the tub, feet on the soft towel spread over the cold stone, but the chill still spread through his toes. “Give me a real answer.”

“As long as I still have something to run my fingers through,” Dorian said finally, following after Jasper, eyeing the sway of his naked hips. “And as long as you let me rut you thoroughly, now that we’ve gotten all nice and squeaky clean.”

Jasper giggled as he jumped onto the huge canopied bed, belly flopping on the numerous, soft sheets. He rolled over to eye Dorian, standing like a golden god before him, and Jasper wished he had been born a sculptor so he could capture the perfection that was Dorian Pavus, bare-ass naked in his bedroom.

“Eat my ass, Pavus,” he teased, flipping him off.

Dorian quirked an eyebrow, then crawled across the bedspread toward Jasper with relish. “With pleasure, my liege.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S RELATIONSHIP TIME, BITCHEZZZZ
> 
> I try to balance sex with fluff with angst. idk if I'm doing it right. Pls validate me in the comments thx <3
> 
> Okay also!!! As some of y'all know, Tevinter Nights has just been released, and it reveals a lot more Dorian backstory, which clashes with my Dorian backstory, but I like this additional Dorian backstory, so just ignore any inconsistencies you find. There will be a lot in later chapters, because I've written far ahead. I'm not changing things though so suck it.
> 
> Also.....wouldn't it be funny if when Jasper is like "at least my dad's not nobility lol imagine the shitshow" that's all foreshadowing??? It's not bc I can't make it fit into the plot BUT it would be a great story arc. Maybe for an epilogue tho? Or another AU? Give me ideas I'll write whatever you want.
> 
> Also no one asked but. When writing/editing this chapter I was listening to Girls in Bikinis which like is really groovy for Jasper. I can picture him wearing a bikini and rollerskates so perfectly. I would draw it but I don't draw ppl I just do landscapes lol


	18. Ah fuck ok

There was honestly nothing better than waking up to the feeling of Dorian’s hard prick pressed against the curve of his ass. Jasper purred and pressed back against his lover, grinding slowly against him. Dorian awoke with a moan, arms tightening around Jasper, burying his face in the back of Jasper’s neck and inhaling his intoxicating lavender-lemon scent.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he whispered, voice husky with sleep and desire. He slid his hand under Jasper’s thigh and lifted it slightly. Jasper was scrabbling through the drawer of his bedside table for a vial of lubricant, leaning over the edge of the bed. He passed it to Dorian and Dorian pulled the cork out with his teeth in a way that was sexier than Jasper had anticipated. He grinned at his lover. Dorian slicked up his fingers and shifted so he could slip them into Jasper’s entrance, one by one.

“Oh, fuck, _Dorian_ ,” Jasper moaned, relishing the feeling of his digits inside of him, stretching him slowly. “Get inside of me. _Now_.”

Dorian lifted Jasper’s leg higher and tilted his own pelvis forward, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with his cock. Jasper’s mouth fell open with a breathy moan, eyes fluttering shut. Dorian started thrusting into him slowly, loving the way Jasper’s breath hitched at his touch. Dorian reached around and grasped Jasper’s cock in his hand, pumping it in time with his thrusts. Jasper closed one of his hands over Dorian’s; the other he used to grip Dorian’s thigh over his, nails digging into his skin and leaving half-moon indentations.

Dorian pressed kisses and little nibbles against Jasper’s neck and shoulders as Jasper moaned, his whimpers and cries echoing in the rafters as Dorian fucked him, bringing him closer and closer to that bright precipice. Jasper arched his back against Dorian. Dorian rolled them so Jasper was pressed face-down into the mattress, arse up in the air, Dorian railing him, his hand still pumping Jasper’s cock.

“Hm, wanted a better view?” Jasper asked breathlessly, smirking, tilting his head to the side so he could glance back at Dorian above him.

Dorian wiped that smirk off Jasper’s face. He palmed Jasper’s ass with one hand, and Jasper watched him, still grinning. Then Dorian raised his hand and brought it back down, the flat of his palm cracking against Jasper’s arse. Jasper yelped, and his eyes were wide and his mouth had dropped open, and for a second Dorian wondered if maybe he had crossed a line. But then Jasper was grinning wildly, like it was Satinalia.

“Fucking do it again.”

Dorian groaned, a shot of desire pulsing straight to his cock. He slapped Jasper again and Jasper keened, digging his fingers into the sheets under him, trembling. Jasper reached under himself and pulled Dorian’s hand off his dick, which confused and surprised Dorian, but Jasper took his hand and replaced it on his neck instead.

“I want you to fucking hurt me, Dorian,” Jasper whined. There was a red mark forming on the globe of his ass now, shaped like Dorian’s large hand. “Choke me, slap me, pull my hair. Fuck, grab one of my daggers, for fuck’s sake, make me bleed.”

Dorian’s cheeks were red and he felt entirely out of his element. He’d never...done anything like this, honestly. “ _Amatus_...what if I actually do hurt you? Cross a line?”

Jasper hummed. “We _should_ have a safe word, I mean, you’re right. And I don’t wanna make you do something you’re uncomfortable with, Dorian, but, fuck. I really want you to just, like, hurt me. I vote...peanut butter, for our safe word. What do you think?”

Dorian snorted. “Peanut butter?”

Jasper was grinning softly as he looked at Dorian. “What, don’t like it? What do you expect it to be? Something grand and important? I hate peanut butter, so…” He shrugged as best he could from his position. “Can we get back to slapping and choking me? If you’re okay with that?”

Dorian nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Just don’t crush my fucking windpipe,” Jasper told him. “Press the sides of my neck.”

Jasper jerked himself off as Dorian wrapped his hand around Jasper’s throat, thumb pressing the blood vessel on the side of Jasper’s neck. Dorian held him there and thrust into him, raking his other hand down Jasper’s back, leaving long, pale-pink lines down his scar-crossed back. A strangled sigh slipped from Jasper’s open mouth.

“ _Dorian_ ,” Jasper whimpered minutes later, and he came with a loud groan, hot seed spurting out over his hand and the sheets. Dorian leaned closer to him and bit down _hard_ on Jasper’s shoulder, Jasper’s entrance tightening around him. He spilled inside Jasper, pumping a few more times before pulling out slowly, carefully, Jasper whining a little beneath him. “Maker, that was nice.”

Dorian rolled over onto his back beside Jasper, eyes on Jasper as he rested there, basking in the afterglow, shoulders dotted with small bruises in the shape of Dorian’s mouth. “That was...different. In a good way,” Dorian added, reaching to push back a loose curl from Jasper’s forehead. Jasper was quick, and snatched Dorian’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss against his palm and at the tip of each of his fingers. Dorian’s cheeks turned crimson.

“We’ll have to revisit this, Dorian,” Jasper assured him with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I think I’ve awakened a part of you hitherto undiscovered. Delightful.”

Dorian hummed and pulled Jasper closer to him, pressing a short kiss to his lips. “I look forward to it, Inquisitor.”

***  
Jasper must have taught the assemblage for his fitting at least a dozen new curses during the hours it took to get his new measurements for the ball at the Winter Palace. It took a team of seamstresses to get him to hold properly still, to measure and rotate and clip and pin. Josephine, on the other hand, was holding up swatch after swatch of various bright hues of fabric to Jasper’s face. Some she tossed away immediately with scoffs of displeasure. Others she contemplated for a brief moment before discarding with a shake of her head. In the end, she chose what she called yale blue, which, on fabric, was muted but powerful. She insisted it would match everyone’s skin tones well enough, but that it really brought out Jasper’s eyes.

“My eyes are fucking brown,” he told her defensively, and she just rolled her eyes at him.

“Perhaps to someone such as yourself, they’re simply brown,” she said with a sniff. “They’re hazel, Jasper, and in just the right light, when you wear cool tones, the blue is really rather emphasized. It’s lovely.”

Jasper shrugged, much to the tutting of the tailors about him. “Hazel, brown, what’s the difference?”

Josephine sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh, my dear. You have the most _lovely_ eyes. Do not downplay them. Wear more blue. I hear Master Pavus rather likes the color as well.”

Jasper was blushing and pouting now, fidgeting unhappily, but he filed away the information for later. He didn’t know that Dorian’s favorite color was blue. To be honest, he didn’t know terribly much about the little things of Dorian. He knew he liked to drink good wine, particularly Antivan wine, and he knew about his family and their relationship. He knew Felix was his very best friend and that they had never been anything more, which had been niggling at Jasper’s mind for a while. He knew Dorian was really an idealist, beneath that jaded ‘Vint exterior. He knew he was insanely smart, a talented academic, as well as people-smart. But his favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite song? Favorite book?

Jasper didn’t have a clue.

He left the fitting feeling a tad uncertain with himself. It got worse as Josephine followed him, reminding him that it was time to judge Erimond for his crimes. A runner darted off to alert the guards that it was time at last. Jasper reluctantly assumed his seat upon the stone throne, feeling so small and out of his depth there. Nobles, dignitaries, soldiers, villagers, and pilgrims were all gathering in the main hall, eager to see the Inquisitor in action. Boy, would they be disappointed.

A few minutes later, Erimond was dragged into the hall, shouting about how he would never acknowledge the authority of the Inquisition. “Kill me if you want,” Erimond sneered as he was thrust down onto the stone floor before Jasper, at the foot of the few steps leading to the dais upon which was the throne. “It will only send me to glory, as a martyr for the Elder One.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “You’re a little fucking cunt, you know that, right? Honestly, I should instate you as the servant that cleans everyone’s chamber pots daily. After all, there _are_ worse things than death. In fact, if you must know, it has crossed my mind to sentence you to be made Tranquil.”

The blood drained from Erimond’s face and there were nervous and shocked whispers around the hall, several gasps. Jasper continued as if he hadn’t paused at all, checking his nails without worry. “However. I’m not _quite_ a monster like you, now am I?” Jasper sat straighter and pointed down at Erimond. “I wonder how long you’d last, tossed in the darkest, dankest, dirtiest cell? Especially once we throw away the key?”

Erimond tossed his head, teeth grit. “Death will find me soon enough. And then I will have my glory. The Venatori will rally around my death.”

Jasper snickered. “You really think I’m going to make it that easy? We’ll keep you alive. For now. Guards!”

Erimond was taken away, and Jasper hoped he never had to see the man’s greasy face ever again. A new cell had been erected for him specifically, just to Jasper’s liking, perfect for driving sanity out of a man’s head.

Jasper didn’t know if he was supposed to get up now. Josephine hadn’t said what happened after he sentenced judgment. He rose stiffly as the gathered folk started to disperse, gossiping about Jasper’s decision - the right one? Too harsh? Too lenient? He quickly left the hall and headed to his room, heart hammering, glad to be alone. He slammed the door behind him, locking it. Then he headed up the stairs, already craving some escape. Weed or alcohol - it didn’t matter. Shit, he’d be willing to go back to his old habits, which were far worse.

He was confused to find an unfamiliar bundle on his desk. He touched it, the fabric soft, and picked up the note on it to read it. It was in Dorian’s impeccable, slanted, spidery hand. A bathrobe. Because Jasper didn’t have one, and Dorian thought he’d look “alluring” in one. Jasper swallowed, then smiled, allowing Dorian’s caring gesture to calm him. He unlaced the twine keeping the bathrobe bundled in a perfect little square. He smoothed it out, indulging in the luxurious feel of it. After they defeated Corypheus, Jasper could get used to living like this. If he and Dorian survived. If Dorian even wanted to live together with him, wanted to continue this.

Jasper sighed and set it aside. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with a bathrobe. After a bath, he usually stayed naked until he had reason to get dressed. He supposed this way he wouldn’t have to get dressed to answer the door? How scandalous, that these were popular in Orlais and among the nobility. Seemed like an excuse to keep your bits flying free.

Jasper set it aside and took a deep breath. He sat to the correspondence at his desk and picked through it, still struggling with some of the words. One from Leliana caught his eye. It was about Dorian. Something belonging to him, his family. Jasper sounded out the words, lips moving to taste them as he spoke them softly. “Am...am-uh...let. Amulet.” He said the word more confidently and read on about this amulet that was supposedly important to Dorian.

He resolved to bring it up to Dorian later, maybe tomorrow when they left on their mission to the Dales. He folded the note back up carefully and tossed it into a drawer before rising and stoking the fire in the fireplace, stretching his arms above his head. He grabbed a bottle of rum from a cabinet and pulled the cork out, deciding it would simply be more expedient to chug straight from the bottle after deciding a man’s fate. How was this any different than killing people on the battlefield, or to send a message to a rival gang, back in the day? Still, Jasper felt shaken by making an official judgment, and he was craving something to blunt out his connection to the world.

Hours passed as Jasper lay down on his bed, drinking, wondering where Dorian was. He got up to unlock the door, just in case, but the only person who entered was a maid bringing him dinner as the sun set. Still no Dorian. That morning, the mage had been struck by an idea that perhaps he could trace Corypheus back somehow through Tevinter records of magisters going back a thousand years. Jasper hadn’t seen him since.

Jasper climbed into bed, under the covers, tossing and turning for a while, something niggling at him. He wanted to show Dorian that he cared about him in a way that someone from a wealthy, privileged background like Dorian’s could relate to. He saw all the gestures Dorian gave him, the gifts, the constant showering of little tokens and trinkets. He wanted to return it in some way. He felt like a fish out of water. With Augustus, all he had ever felt he had to do was just...listen to him. Augustus was very upfront about what he’d wanted. And Jasper had given him that wholeheartedly. He’d been generous with his body, his money. He’d been careful to interact only with the trusted members of the gang, no one Augustus disproved of. And Augustus had been very open with his love in return. It was simple arithmetic, even if it was toxic.

Dorian was an unknown quantity, and Jasper wasn’t sure how to make the equation fit. Jasper wasn’t used to gifts like this. Dorian seemed pleased with him...but it was only a matter of time before that changed. It had been a matter of time with Augustus, and with Laila, and eventually Dorian would get bored of Jasper just being...sexual. Of wanting attention. Of cuddling and touching and stroking. Jasper wasn’t smart like him, and honestly, outside of sex and booze, they didn’t have a whole lot in common. The idea of Dorian growing bored of him scared Jasper. A lot. He didn’t want to lose another person.

He lay awake a while as the twin moons continued their circuit over Skyhold and the castle grew dark and sleepy. And long after that, he heard the door to his chambers open, Dorian’s soft footsteps up the stairs and into his room, the rustle of his clothes as he undressed, the quiet shift of blankets as the mage crawled into bed beside him. Their bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces cut together. Dorian’s arm snaked over Jasper’s side, hand resting on his hip, warm and soft over his skin. Dorian nuzzled into Jasper’s too-long hair, kissing his ear softly. Jasper didn’t know why he was pretending to be asleep, but he remained silent and shut his eyes, allowing Dorian’s strong, consistent heartbeat to slowly lure him to sleep.

***  
They left early the next morning. Neither Jasper nor Dorian wanted to get up and leave the embrace of the other’s arms, but soon it had gotten so bright in the room that Jasper knew they were going to be late. He pulled Dorian up out of bed, laughing away the man’s protests as he himself leapt out of bed and washed his face.

“Oi, you, I’ll have to string you up and whip you if you don’t get a move on,” Jasper threatened, patting his face dry with a soft terry cloth and running a hand through his unruly curls. He _really_ needed to cut his hair.

“Is that a threat?” Dorian asked as he stretched languidly, arms high above his head, showing off the taut, perfect muscles of his back, his abdomen, his arse.

Jasper’s mouth was watering, and he wanted nothing more than to tackle Dorian back into bed and ride him until all he saw was heaven. But he knew that Cassandra would barrel in unawares when they didn’t arrive at the stables on time, and she’d grown rather sick of walking in on them together in odd places around Skyhold.

“It’s a fucking promise, Pavus,” Jasper challenged. “Now get your ass in gear before the Seeker bursts in here looking for us and get an eyeful of my ballsack again.”

Dorian chuckled. “My, my, you are a little bossypants, aren’t you?”

Jasper stuck his tongue out at Dorian. “Spank me later, daddy. We’re really rather late, though.” He glanced to the rising sun as he pulled his boots on and pulled his hair half back into a bun. “Shit, Josephine’s punctuality is starting to rub off on me.”

Jasper strapped on his daggers and was rushing to the door when Dorian shot out an arm, stopping him and catching the elf by surprise. Jasper started complaining, but Dorian cut off any protests with a soft, firm kiss, hand resting gently on Jasper’s back. A moment later, Dorian pulled back, and Jasper blinked adorably.

“Surely there’s always time for a good morning kiss?” Dorian asked sweetly, smirking at the red blush blooming in Jasper’s cheeks. Jasper chuckled and rose to his tip-toes to kiss Dorian back, just a chaste little thing.

“Always, of course,” Jasper agreed. “Now get your buckles fastened. Maker, you really need to give yourself more time in the morning to get ready.”

Dorian clicked his tongue, running his fingers through Jasper’s hair and pulling out the bun in the process. “You’re clucking like a mother hen, my dear. It’s endearing.”

Jasper blushed and turned his face away, running a self-conscious hand over his hair and tutting. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Dorian asked. “Complimenting you?”

“Stop dilly-dallying!” Jasper said exasperatedly, throwing Dorian’s boots at him. “And grab those scissors, I’m cutting my hair myself.”

Dorian seemed shocked into alarm. “Excuse me? Yourself? What do you mean?”

Jasper grinned, grabbed the scissors, and darted down the stairs. “When you’re done getting ready, you can ask!” He ducked through the door before Dorian could stop him, but of course, he wasn’t going to cut his hair so promptly. He left the scissors in Josephine’s empty office and used her mirror to tie his hair half-back again.

Dorian, of course, did not leave the bedroom until his hair was perfectly coiffed, his mustache precisely twirled, every strap expertly buckled, and nothing out of place, not even a thread. Cassandra and Cole were already down by the stables, waiting, but Jasper was saving a bit of breakfast for Dorian.

The look in Dorian’s eyes was soft as he accepted the still-warm bowl of porridge from Jasper, along with strips of bacon and links of sausage. Such hearty fare for breakfast in the south. Nothing like the light, fresh meals of Minrathous. Muesli or fresh fruit. But Dorian was delighted to eat it anyway, if just because Jasper had set it aside for him. “Thank you, _amatus_.”

Jasper curled a lock of hair around his finger. “Don’t mention it. I told the others to wait for us by the stables, so you could enjoy your breakfast in peace, without Cassandra yelling at you for every mistake you could’ve possibly made this morning so far. We’re working on her people skills.”

Dorian nearly choked on his porridge, laughing at that notion. “According to Josie, she has a soft spot for poetry. Can you believe it?”

Jasper snorted. “Seriously? Maker’s breath, that’s priceless. Imagine her, reciting love poetry in the moonlight. I can’t see it. I just can’t.”

Dorian covered his mouth with a hand as he laughed. “Stop, I’ll spray porridge across the table. You’ll have turned me into a southern barbarian.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid. Our resident fancy-pants could never.”

“I think Vivienne is the resident fancy-pants, no?”

Dorian finished his breakfast, the porridge sitting in his gut like glue, and followed Jasper through the misty yard, down to the stables where Cassandra was waiting, the other steeds already prepped. The horses were a little put off by Cole, gentle as he was. He liked the horses a lot, but only the dracolisk seemed to tolerate him. Like to like.

They set off, not too late, down through the valley. Talk was light and infrequent as they meandered through the Frostbacks, skirting Val Royeaux, and up into the Dales, north of Halamshiral. Land stolen by the Orlesians from those who had once been their elven allies. Jasper shook his head, the desolate landscape of the Exalted Plains barren and chalky, entirely ravaged by the Orlesian civil war and their numerous deserters. They had their own roving bands of Freemen of the Dales here, just like the Emerald Graves.

Days and nights passed as they approached the Plains, but Jasper hadn’t mentioned the note to Dorian yet. About the amulet. He felt weird receiving intel on his lover. He wasn’t sure how to broach it. He didn’t until after they’d met the Dalish.

Seeing the aravels in the valley, nestled between two outcropping of rock, seeing the halla and their shepherds, the unique elven clothes, the vallaslin, the unique tools. Hearing their language, the stories being told to children, the casual phrases. Smelling the cooking food, the spices, the hides boiling to make leather. It staggered Jasper. He nearly fell down the little rise as he was bombarded with memories he hadn’t realized existed. For a moment, he was seven years old again.

“Jasper? Are you okay?” Dorian asked, hesitantly putting his hand on his lover’ arm, uncertain. “This...this isn’t your clan, is it?”

Jasper shook his head, regaining his footing and his breath. His clan was across the Waking Sea, outside Wycome, being harrassed by bandits. “I just...deja vu, I guess. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” Jasper scoffed at the look Dorian gave him. “Really. I promise. Now stop being such a worry-wart.”

The elven children had been tucked away safely by the time the Inquisition arrived on the edge of the encampment. Now the hunters ringed the camp, weapons drawn, suspicious and hostile. Jasper waltzed up to the lead hunter guarding the other members of the clan, trying to regain some of his usual nonchalance, his usual dipshittery. The hunter bristled, baring their teeth at Jasper as he stood too close for comfort to the hunter.

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Jasper said first before the hunter could start interrogating them. He’d researched the phrase, along with a few other basic Dalish ones, before they travelled to the Dales, knowing a clan was encamped there. He just needed to jog his memory. And he hadn’t really wanted to bring Solas if he could avoid it, since he would always end up getting into an argument with him. Jasper was surprised by how readily he remembered the once-familiar words.

“What’s your purpose here, city brat?” the hunter questioned, but the Keeper waved them aside, drawing closer.

“Excuse our rudeness,” the man said, not sounding very apologetic at all. “We’re not used to outsiders. _Aneth ara, da’len_. My name is Keeper Hawen.”

“Not used to city elves, you mean,” Jasper challenged. “Go ahead, hit me with your best misconceptions.”

The Keeper’s lips thinned. “It is not your upbringing away from your clan that bothers me, Inquisitor Lavellan. It is your abandonment of your faith, your adoption of this...false god.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. _Here we go again._ He’d had a similar discussion with Solas. He spat his words through clenched teeth. “You don’t know shit about me, Keeper. Don’t act like you can take a look at me and know everything about me. That hocus-pocus bullshit won’t work on me. I worship no god, and I serve no will except my own. And my will is telling me that there’s a darkspawn would-be god who will destroy all of Thedas if someone doesn’t take charge. That’s me, in case you’re trying to follow along. So drop the ‘outsider’ bullshit. We’re all the same when we die, anyway.”

Hawen sighed, shaking his head with disappointment and perhaps some disgust. “You deny your title of Herald of Andraste?”

Jasper shrugged. “Semantics. It’s got a nice ring to it, and it gets the job done. Andraste can eat my shit, though, throwing me into this mess.” He sniffed indignantly and crossed his arms. “Anyway, I don’t give a shit about your opinion. We’re in the area, clearing out the undead, destroying demons, disbanding the Freemen. I’m sure you’ve heard of such things before. We’re looking to trade, that’s it. Just commerce. Surely your inner capitalist is salivating.”

Hawen’s jaw was set, and for a moment, they all thought he would say no. “It has been a long time since anyone has approached us to trade. We don’t have much choice.” The Keeper did not sound terribly enthused. Jasper smiled saccharinely and patted Hawen on the cheek condescendingly. The Keeper slapped his hand away, reminding him, “I can and will change my mind, Inquisitor, if you do not show due respect.”

Jasper shrugged and brushed past him, aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes on him. Animosity. Wow, it was almost like that day after the explosion, when Cassandra had dragged him out of the dungeons and all the villagers wanted to kill him. How things had changed, and yet remained so entirely the same. Damn.

Jasper rustled through the wares the Dalish were willing to sell. He was eyeing a little wooden carving of a halla that reminded him painfully of one he’d had as a child. His favorite toy. And Juno's knot! The impossible puzzle box. He’d spent hours toying with it until he’d thrown it against a rock, destroying it. It really was impossible, simply created to keep kids occupied for hours at a time. Jasper set it aside carefully, all too aware of the eyes on him.

He turned to see a young man, a few years younger than himself, maybe twenty, with flaming auburn hair, watching Jasper with interest, just a few feet away. Staring. Jasper glared at him. “What do you want?” he asked disinterestedly.

The young man jumped. He was dressed in hunter’s leathers, but he was lolling about. Bored. Dissatisfied. “Inquisitor! What an honor to meet you. My name is Loranil.”

The hunter’s voice was a little too high-pitched for Jasper’s liking, grating on his eardrums. “Yeah, okay, and?”

Loranil licked his lips, eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve heard about the Inquisition, ser, and I want to join. Only problem is, Keeper Hawen won’t let me. Says it’s too dangerous. That they’ll turn me into an Andrastian zealot if I join the Inquisition. I don’t think that’s true. Look at you, you don’t worship Andraste, and you’re supposed to be her Herald! Corypheus threatens all life, and I want to stop him. And I know that serving the Inquisition is the _right_ thing to do!”

Jasper paused at that. He remembered when Dorian and his father were arguing, his father asked him what had driven him to the Inquisition, if it were just a death wish. But Dorian had told him it was because joining the Inquisition was, in the end, the right thing to do.

“We’re always recruiting,” Jasper said softly, clapping the hunter on his shoulder, taking him by surprise. “We need eager lads like you. Head to our nearest camp, and they’ll take you back with their next shift change.”

Loranil sighed heavily. “I’ve already talked to Keeper Hawen. He won’t allow it.”

Jasper rolled his eyes with a scoff. “C’mon, you were a rebellious teenager at some point, weren’t you? Shit, you still are practically a teenager. Where’s that rebellious spirit? Do it _anyway_. Just, like, sneak out.”

Loranil looked like he really wanted to take Jasper’s advice, but knew better. “I would, but I love the Dalish too much. I would be banished from my clan, and I can’t do that. These are my friends and family.”

“You’ll get new friends and family,” Jasper assured him, thinking of the crews he’d become attached to over the years. How the Inquisition had become a new family for him.

The hunter shook his head. “No. I’ll do this the right way, with my Keeper’s blessing.”

Jasper shrugged. “He doesn’t like me much. Doubt he’ll listen to me on this. Good luck, kid.”

Loranil sighed. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

Jasper _did_ talk to Hawen about Loranil, and he seemed even less willing to allow Loranil to leave now that he’d seen the Inquisition (and Jasper specifically) firsthand. Jasper wheedled with him, as if Loranil had burrowed into some tiny space in Jasper’s shrivelled old heart. He didn’t want to let the kid down. Life was full of disappointments, and Jasper would like to not lead to another one for this kid.

“Unless you can prove that the Inquisition isn’t a spiritual death camp for Dalish individuals, I will not allow any of our clan to enlist,” Hawen said with finality. Jasper flipped him the bird with a curse, even though he knew it would not curry any favor, and left the camp behind as they returned to the wilderness.

“What a stuffy old shitter,” Jasper muttered mostly to himself as they headed over the next rise.

Dorian patted his shoulder. “There, there. Look, here, I got you something. I saw you eyeing this halla with the most adorable look on your face.” They paused in their walk, and Dorian produced the little wooden halla that had reminded Jasper of his childhood. Jasper was shocked, and felt tears springing to his eyes suddenly, so taken by the gesture.

“Dorian,” he said uncertainly, taking the halla in his hand. Less fragile than it appeared. “Thank you.” He pulled Dorian closer with one hand and kissed him fiercely, much to the protests of Cassandra. Cole simply seemed confused, head cocked to the side as he watched them.

“Slipping, sliding, skating,” Cole murmured. “But he’s not on ice. He’s on fire.”

Dorian pulled away from Jasper with a soft chuckle. “Still not sure how I feel about the whole...PDA thing.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “We’re hardly in public.”

Dorian scoffed, pulling Jasper along as they continued their trek toward where the Dalish hunter, Ithiren, had claimed to see a legendary golden halla. He was afraid that the Freemen, or Venatori, or wild animals, or whatever numb-nuts bandits were roaming this cursed land would kill the halla. And Jasper, ever the softie, kind of wanted to save the halla, if he could. And the hunter had implied that it might be enough to get Hawen to ease up on Loranil and let him join. Jasper kind of just wanted Hawen to be beholden to him.

“A fucking golden halla?” Jasper ridiculed as they wandered around the plains, looking for a sign of the halla. He saw no tracks, no scat, nothing to indicate any sort of halla. “That’s the stuff of legends. Supposedly they visit the Dalish in their time of need. Now if that isn’t a sign that Corypheus is a threat to us all…” Jasper sighed. “I can’t believe Hawen is such a belligerent, willful idiot, ignoring the real threat.”

“He’s scared,” Cole whispered. “He thinks if he hides, it can’t find him.”

“Yeah, well, not much good that’ll do him when demons are walking Thedas like it’s party time,” Jasper grumbled, letting Dorian rub his shoulder. “How are we even supposed to find this damned halla?”

“ _You_ are supposed to be the expert,” Cassandra reminded him.

“What, because I’m an elf?” he asked touchily.

She raised an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. “No, because you’re a rogue. Don’t you have excessive experience hunting and tracking?”

Jasper colored and grumbled. “Yeah, okay, I’ve been looking, I see no signs of this damned halla. I guess Loranil will be stuck with the Dalish, poor kid. Shame.”

“You’re just going to leave him there?” Cassandra asked in disbelief. Shit, she really needed to get used to how much of a flake Jasper really was.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “He doesn’t want to go without his Keeper’s blessing. That’s Hawen’s issue, not mine. Who’s to say he’ll even keep his word to Loranil? Just because we take care of his errands doesn’t mean he’ll be anymore inclined to allow one of his hunters to leave. Dalish really don’t like it when their people leave.”

Cassandra sighed. “Perhaps you are right.”

Jasper shrugged. “Life’s a fucking bitch, you know that, I know that, we all know that.”

“Let’s call it a day, shall we?” Dorian offered tentatively. “Have some dinner.”

Jasper shrugged and they traipsed back over the desolate plains to the nearest camp, hailed by the Inquisition soldiers maintaining the camp. Jasper set to restocking his potions, poisons, and grenades, while Cassandra set on a log and cleaned and sharpened her blade carefully. The sun was setting, and the scouts already had a bubbling pot of stew simmering away over the fire, and it smelled like decent enough food.

Jasper set the wooden halla on his bedroll, eyeing it nostalgically. He felt sure he could almost see his mother’s face. It had gotten blurry with age, lost in his memories, mixed with the faces of numerous other women he’d grown attached to at one point or another. It made him sad that he couldn’t remember what his mother really looked like. But he remembered her smell. She’d smelled like spices and patchouli. The best smells.

“I’m glad you like it,” Dorian murmured, startling Jasper and nearly sending him leaping out of his skin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Jasper turned and straightened up, drawing closer to Dorian and letting the mage wrap his arms around him. “I do like it. A lot. It reminds me of my childhood. The good parts of it, before…” He looked up into Dorian’s soft gray eyes, so tender and full of love. Jasper swallowed. “I...have a question for you.”

“Ask away, _amatus_.”

Dorian had started calling him that a lot, and Jasper wondered what it meant, but he didn’t want to get sidetracked just. “I’ve...heard about this...amulet…”

Dorian stiffened immediately. “How did you hear about that?” His voice sounded alarmed. “Oh...Leliana. Of course _she_ would find out. Don’t make an issue of it. I don’t want someone solving my personal problems for me. I’ll get it back. On my own.”

Jasper ran his hands down Dorian’s arms. “What’s so important about it? I don’t understand what it is.”

Dorian sighed, pulling away. Jasper let his hands slide away and frowned, missing the contact between them. Jasper followed him back out of the tent and outside the edge of camp. “It’s the Pavus birthright. The flashy thing you show peons to make them tremble at your impressive lineage. I didn’t leave home with much in the way of coin, you know, so I sold it. Extremely forbidden, of course, and foolish, but I was desperate. I’ll figure something out.”

Jasper stood close to Dorian, but didn’t touch him, feeling the wall Dorian was building as he spoke. He wanted to pull Dorian into his arms and soothe away his anxiety, calm him, reassure him. “You don’t even like your family. Why do you want it back?”

“Because it’s mine, and it shouldn’t…” Dorian breathed out angrily, hands curled into fists. “It shouldn’t be passed around like candy. Is that reason enough for you?”

Dorian’s words were so sharp it made Jasper flinch. “You don’t have to be a little bitch about it. And you don’t have to do it on your own.”

Dorian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “I’ll figure it out, and I’ll get it back. I don’t want you doing my dirty work. You have too many people asking you to do everything under the sun. I won’t be one of them.”

Jasper frowned. “But I want to help you, Dorian. I can help you. So easily. Why won’t you - ?”

“Because it’s none of your business!” Dorian snapped. Jasper wouldn’t back down, didn’t flinch this time. Dorian took a deep breath and rubbed his hand down his face. “Just _leave it_. Please, Jasper.”

Jasper said nothing, just stared angrily at a spot above Dorian’s head. Dorian brushed past Jasper and headed back to the camp, accepting a bowl of stew from one of the scouts, the flap of the tent closing behind him. He stayed outside, sitting on a log, reading by the light of the fire, acting like nothing had happened. Eventually, Jasper left the tent and sat at the edge of the campfire. Jasper was watching him from across it as he ate his own dinner, waiting for the others to turn in before he finished _this_ with Dorian. The discussion was definitely _not_ over, not with the way Dorian had left it.

Dorian just sat there, reading, as the night wore on, seemingly entirely absorbed in the book. Two of the scouts were staying up for watch, and sat on a broad log next to the fire and played cards. Jasper stifled a yawn as he waited, sharpening his daggers and throwing knives. He jumped when Cole appeared next to him.

“Hiding, harrowing, scared for help,” Cole murmured. “He wants this to be on his own.”

Jasper sighed, eyes burning with tiredness. “I don’t get it. He’s pushing me away, _again_.”

“Pushing, or protecting?” Cole challenged, looking up at the smoke that rose in plumes from the fire.

Jasper frowned at him. “That’s stupid. He knows I’ll help him with anything.”

Cole nodded. “He doesn’t want your help.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I get that. Whatever. I’m going to bed, don’t follow me.” Jasper tucked away his sharpening tools and supplies in their fabric wrap and folded it away into his satchel. He collected his daggers in their sheathes and stomped quickly to the tent he shared with Dorian, dropping his stuff neatly to the side. He stripped quickly and with some degree of frustration, tossing his clothes angrily into the corner. He crawled into his bedroll and scooched further away from Dorian’s, feeling delightfully resentful and horribly lonely.

He fell asleep faster than he thought would be possible with the writhing thoughts in his head, but it was not a deep sleep, and he woke easily when Dorian stepped into the tent. It could’ve been twenty minutes later, it could’ve been hours. He lay there, pretending to still be asleep as Dorian shucked his clothes off, trying to minimize the clatter of buckles. He heard Dorian pause, then sigh quietly, and move his bedroll closer to make up for the extra distance Jasper had put there pettily.

Jasper loved the feeling of Dorian’s arms sliding around him as he settled down, but Jasper pushed his hands off angrily, giving away the charade of his sleep. He felt Dorian hesitate, knew that it hurt Dorian, knew that it was mean and petty and altogether unworthy. He knew that Dorian was upset, too, but Jasper didn’t get _why_ , and he didn’t understand his refusal and his denial. Jasper didn’t understand why Dorian had kept it a secret and why he pushed Jasper away emotionally. So Jasper would go ahead and push him away physically.

“ _Amatus_ ,” Dorian sighed sadly.

“Stop it,” Jasper hissed. “Don’t start with that pet name bullshit, like I’ll just melt in your hands and pretend nothing happened.”

“Why are you so upset?” Dorian asked tersely, facing the back of Jasper’s head on the bedroll. “Because I won’t let you clean up my mess?”

Jasper made an exasperated noise and turned around to face him in the semidarkness. “Because you’re not telling me the truth.”

“Oh, and you always tell the whole truth?” Dorian challenged in a mocking tone.

Jasper grit his teeth. “Don’t change the subject. I’m trying to change, and you know that, so don’t throw it in my face.”

Dorian’s eyes were hard and flinty in the small amount of light that seeped through the canvas from the fire. “Who’s Laila?”

He had _not_ been expecting that. Jasper’s mind was whirling around at the sudden topic change. He felt his mouth turn dry. “Nobody.”

Dorian let out an incredulous bark of laughter. “There you go, always fucking lying! As if it’s _all_ you know how to do! You know, I wonder if you’ve said one word of truth to me since our relationship began.”

Jasper felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Oh? Go fuck yourself, then, if you trust me so little. And keep your hands to yourself.”

Dorian sighed, rubbed a hand down his face, then reached over to take Jasper’s hand. This was not what he’d wanted; he didn’t want a fight. He just wanted Jasper to be open and honest. Even if that did make Dorian a bit of a hypocrite. “Jasper - “

Jasper drew back aggressively, snapping his hand out of Dorian’s grip. “Don’t fucking touch me. I mean it.” He rolled over and scooted as far away from Dorian as he could, curling in on himself on the bedroll, rounding his shoulders away.

“Jasper, please,” Dorian tried again, but he did not touch Jasper this time. “You’re...being irrational.”

Jasper held up his hand, middle finger pointed straight up, but other than that, he gave no response to Dorian’s pleas to calm down. Eventually, Dorian gave up with a heavy sigh and rolled onto his back. Jasper listened to Dorian’s breathing even out, and the quiet snores that told Jasper Dorian was asleep. Jasper waited a little while longer, then carefully got up, pulling his trousers and boots back on, and sifted through his saddlebags, until he found his weed and papers.

Jasper nodded to the scouts on duty and slipped past them, shirtless, into the cool evening air, shivering in the wind. There were so few trees to climb here, in the Plains. So he settled for climbing a tall rock formation, which wasn’t nearly as fun or beautiful, but it would have to do. He set to rolling a quick J, then lay back on the rock, lighting his hand-rolled cigarette, and letting it all just wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fight :( But of course we will practice Good Communication Skills, because fights happen in every relationship bc it's hard to coexist even with the people you love, but if you care enough to work things out nothing is insurmountable :)))
> 
> While editing this I was listening to 100 gecs i love them.
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL PLS ENJOY


	19. A Lot of Shit

The tension between Jasper and Dorian was palpable, and it put everyone in a rather reticent mood for the duration of their time in the Exalted Plains. Not that Cole was very talkative to begin with. But Cassandra just scowled around at everything when her awkward yet earnest attempts at conversation fell flat. Thankfully, they finished quickly, restoring some semblance of peace to the Exalted Plains, and even finally managed to track and capture the golden halla, which they returned to the Dalish clan, much to the mixed reactions of Hawen.

“If the boy comes to any harm,” the Keeper said quietly to Jasper after ensuring the golden halla was safe amongst the rest of the herd, “you will have his blood on your hands, _da’len_.”

“My hands are already soaked in blood that is not my own,” Jasper told him politely with a little smile at odds with his cold words. “Just tell the _boy_ to pack his shit and head to our campsite. The scouts will ensure he reaches Skyhold safely.”

Hawen shook his head. “ _Dirthara-ma_ ,” was all he said before waving them away.

They walked away, leaving the Dalish camp behind. “What did he say?” Cassandra asked curiously, glancing back at the small settlement.

Jasper shrugged. “Told me to go fuck myself, basically. ‘May you learn.’ He thinks I’m being an idiot. He’s not the first, he won’t be the last. I could not give less of a shit even if I tried.”

Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but Jasper shoved past him roughly.

After that, they left the Exalted Plains behind, returning to Skyhold slightly behind schedule. Josephine wanted them all back with plenty of time to spare, for last-minute fittings, a refresher on dance lessons, a quick review on etiquette. It was all for Jasper’s sake, he knew, but he didn’t really concern himself with what nobles thought of him.

“You’re acting completely immature,” Dorian snapped at Jasper one evening when they stopped to make camp, a day’s ride from Skyhold. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how high you are most of the time. Running away instead of dealing with your problems.”

Jasper sighed. “Yeah, and? What else do you expect from a _liar_ like me?” Jasper tied his horse up and hung a bag of feed around her neck, then ducked away from Dorian, grabbing his tent out of its bag and tossing it to Cassandra. Cole was nowhere to be seen, but Jasper could hear him humming in the woods, no doubt collecting firewood as he did every night.

“Stop throwing that in my face,” Dorian seethed, following Jasper closely as he rounded his mare to get into the saddlebags on the other side. “I was angry when I said that. You just...wouldn’t leave the topic of my birthright alone, and I was upset, and I’ve already apologized. Numerous times.”

“Just tell me why,” Jasper pleaded. “Why are you being such an ass about it?”

“Because it’s _my business_ ,” Dorian repeated icily. “I lost it, it’s my responsibility. I won’t have someone else running my errands for me, especially you, Jasper. _Amatus_.”

Jasper kept just out of Dorian’s reach as he collected his throwing knives and stalked into the forest. “Go...be useful. You’ll scare away any game.”

Dorian scoffed and stormed after Jasper despite his words. “Why are you still so angry with me? You brought up the amulet, you kept pushing about it, you called me a liar first. So why are you acting so indignant?”

“Because!” Jasper hissed. “You…” He took a breath, sighed it out, trying to control his temper so he didn’t end up shouting to the heavens. He kept his voice low, shaking with rage. “You _insinuated_ that I’m...being unfaithful, that I’m fucking some other woman! And I know I don’t have the greatest reputation, but I’m _trying_ to be better, and I’m doing that for _you_ , and you threw it right back in my face. How the fuck am I _supposed_ to feel about that, Dorian?”

“What am I supposed to think, when you moan this woman’s name in the middle of the night?” Dorian countered, throwing his arm wide. “‘Oh, she’s just a childhood friend?’”

“You should’ve asked me calmly instead of jumping to conclusions,” Jasper snapped. “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have started attacking me about it. Or are you just so baffled by the idea that someone might love you that you have to sabotage and ruin everything?”

Jasper kept moving, and Dorian tried to keep up in the thick underbrush that Jasper navigated easily. “I’m sorry, Jasper, I’m not trying to be an ass, I trust you, _amatus_. Just tell me who she is, please. Or do you enjoy making me miserable with jealousy?”

Jasper sighed, stopping suddenly, pressing his hands to his face. Dorian caught up and stood just in front of him, hands by his side, not touching Jasper, careful not to, since Jasper had started pulling away from his hands the other night. “I really would rather not talk about it, Dorian.” His voice was small, pitched weirdly, and Dorian realized with a start that Jasper was trying not to cry, face buried against his hands.

Dorian placed his hands slowly on Jasper’s arms as the elf cried, and when he didn’t pull away, he slid his arms around his back, pulling the elf flush against his chest, soothing his back gently with a hand, feeling Jasper shaking with his quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, Jasper,” Dorian whispered, feeling like an utter arse. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I would never...”

Jasper shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” He pulled back from Dorian and turned his head away, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands quickly, as if he could pretend that he hadn’t just had a minor breakdown. “I need to find something for us to eat. You should go back to camp.”

“Jasper,” Dorian tried.

“Please, Dorian?” Jasper begged. “I need a minute to collect myself, okay? And we really do need something meaty to throw in that stew.”

Dorian sighed and let it go, heading back to camp resignedly. Cassandra glanced at him when he approached, eyed him, but didn’t say anything as Dorian helped her set up the tents. Cole was tending the fire, squatting beside it quietly, watching the flames flickering and licking up the dry kindling he’d gathered.

A quarter of an hour later, Jasper returned with a few rabbits, which he set to skinning beside the fire as Cassandra took out their pot and left to go fill it with water. Dorian sat beside him on the dirt, one leg bent with his arm resting on it.

“You feel okay?” Dorian asked quietly, uncertainly.

Jasper nodded stiffly, not looking at him. His eyes were red. “I’m sorry for pushing you to talk about things you don’t want to.”

Dorian rested his hand on Jasper’s knee. “Me, too. I don’t ever want to make you cry, you know that, right?”

Jasper nodded. “Yes. And I don’t like to make you upset, either. But you...I feel like you’ve constantly got this wall up around you, around your heart. And you never let me in unless I push and try to break it.”

Dorian scoffed. “ _I’m_ the one with a wall around his heart? Jasper, you knew I had feelings for you long before I confessed, don’t pretend to be dense. Yet you kept stringing me along, and then rejected me. Harshly.”

Jasper blushed, and would’ve rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, except his hand was covered in rabbit blood. “I really am dense, you know. I...suspected you might be growing attached to me. I chose to ignore it because it was easier.”

Dorian shook his head. “Why am I in love with an idiot like you?”

Jasper fidgeted uncomfortably. Since Dorian’s desperate confession months beforehand, Jasper hadn’t heard him say the word. In fact, when Jasper asked Dorian if he was baffled by being loved, that was the first time Jasper had said it, though he was trying to ignore that. He was scared to tell Dorian he loved him, even if they were in a relationship, even if it seemed obvious to everyone around them. He was absolutely terrified to say that word to Dorian.“You have bad taste in men, obviously.”

Dorian leaned in and kissed Jasper’s cheek. “I adore you, stupid or smart. Break down all my walls. Please.”

Jasper shouldered Dorian away playfully, threatening to smear blood on him. He watched Dorian scooch away, and bit his lip, wondering if Leliana would still help him hunt down that amulet.

***  
Leliana hailed Jasper across the garden courtyard. Jasper didn’t think he’d ever seen her there before, but she gestured to him to follow her. He crossed the garden path and rendezvoused with her on the other side, on the raised stone surrounding the garden. They slipped into darkness together, walking along the less-frequented ramparts.

“My agents were able to buy your clan time to escape from the bandits, not a moment too soon,” Leliana informed him. “Perhaps bandits is not the right term for them. My suspicions were correct. They are mercenaries - bought by Duke Antoine of Wycome himself, though we have not uncovered what caused him to turn on the Dalish, and in such an underhanded way. In public, he pledges himself to the Inquisition, donates generous amounts of coin. But we cannot trust him.”

Jasper shook his head. “Shit. You know I hold no love for the Dalish, particularly my own clan. But that’s just some pussy-shit.”

Leliana made a noise of either approval or disapproval. Jasper could never tell how she felt about his colorful language. “I agree. This was underhanded. I will let you know if I find anything else.”

***  
Jasper much enjoyed his nice, calm walks every day through the grounds of Skyhold, especially when Dorian joined him. The weather was usually absolutely perfect, like a perpetual autumn, and most people left him well enough alone, aside from a howdy-do, which suited him just fine. He hated the adoration the people showed him, really. Even if it did come with succulent meals and pristine vintage wines.

What he did _not_ like, however, was dealing with his inner circle arguing in public. Shockingly, this time, it was not Varric and Cassandra, not even Sera and literally anyone. Cole was following after Solas as the mage scowled, Cole calling after him, a desperate edge to his unusually loud voice; Cole hardly ever raised his voice, but right now, he was obviously upset. Jasper glanced to Dorian beside him, rolling his eyes.

“No, absolutely not,” Solas said over his shoulder, continuing on his way.

“But you _like_ demons!” Cole called after Solas.

“I enjoy the company of _spirits_ , yes,” Solas allowed stiffly. “Which is part of the reason why I do not abuse them with bondings.”

“It isn’t _abuse_ if I ask,” Cole reasoned, hurrying after Solas. Jasper sighed and headed in their direction, shaking his head. Who wanted to talk about abuse? He had a thing or two to add.

“Not always true,” Solas explained. “Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation as nothing more than academic.”

“Look, if Cole has given consent, then whatever freaky shit you’ve got planned is fine by me,” Jasper sighed, tossing his hand along with the throwaway line. My, sometimes it was difficult being so flippant all the time. But it was so much easier than being serious, especially when it involved disappointing Solas.

“He won’t bind me!” Cole whined, a desperate edge to his voice, turning to Jasper but gesturing back at Solas. “He’s a mage, and he likes demons, but he won’t help.”

“Back up a minute there, kid,” Jasper said, stopping him. “What’s the whole deal? Didn’t we just stop a whole host of demon-bindings for a reason?”

“If someone won’t do the ritual to bind me, then someone else could,” Cole explained, words spilling out quickly. He was upset, walking back and forth very quickly and shaking his hands. “ _Will_. Like the Warden mages! And then…I’m not me anymore. Walls around what I want. Blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.”

Jasper placed a gentle hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Calm down, buddy. Take a breath. Let’s think for a minute and figure this out, okay? Breathe with me.”

As Cole followed Jasper’s lead and matched their breath, Dorian hummed. “There must be a middle-ground between doing nothing and ‘bind Cole with blood magic.’”

Solas nodded. “I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit wearing an Amulet of the Unbound was immune to blood magic and bindings. It _should_ protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman.”

“Good,” Cole said with a sharp nod, shrugging off Jasper’s hand and stomping away angrily. “They will not take me.”

Jasper looked at Dorian, brow knitted in concern, and then at Solas. “How did this come up, Solas? He was fine on our trip to the Exalted Plains.”

Solas sighed. “Apparently, someone made a comment about how he is a spirit, of course, and asked him how that worked, and if he was immune to blood magic. Cole was alarmed, he panicked, he came running to me, begging me to bind him. I said no, of course, as you saw. It is barbaric.”

Dorian rubbed his hand against Jasper’s back. “Poor thing. How scared he must be, to be so vulnerable.”

Jasper wrapped his arms around himself, really feeling for Cole. “There’s nothing worse than someone using you against your will. We _will_ find a way to help Cole, I promise. I won’t let someone hurt him like that.”

***  
It was rather easy to get their hands on the amulet, truth be told. Jasper was expecting it to be a difficult task, full of trading favors and meeting dignitaries and digging up dirt. But the Rivaini seers were more than happy to share an amulet to help the Inquisition. Such a delightful change of pace, really, to finally be helped in exchange for all the help the Inquisition was already doing. Jasper did, however, casually mention to Josephine to see about perhaps opening more trade to Rivain. As a thank-you.

But of course, it didn’t just _work_. Nothing just worked for them. When Solas tried charging the amulet on Cole, all it did was leave Cole with a nasty bruise on his sternum. And it brought Varric into the mix, and he was disappointed in Jasper for having been involved with such insanity, which hurt Jasper a tad. He wasn’t sure Varric really forgave him since they left Hawke behind in the Fade. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the dwarf’s forgiveness.

Solas didn’t seem to understand why the amulet hadn’t worked. Varric thought it was simple enough: Cole wasn’t a demon. He wasn’t a spirit, either. Not really. He wasn’t spirit enough for the amulet to work, but not human enough to be saved from being bound by a bloodmage. It was quite the predicament. However, Cole was able to focus on whatever it was that was keeping him too human but not human enough. Something that Jasper really couldn’t understand, but he trusted Cole to understand his own intuition, and so they suited up and headed out, into the Hinterlands, the four of them.

Dorian was less than delighted that Jasper was leaving him behind, but he insisted that they already made too conspicuous of a group, and the last thing they needed was another mage with them, especially a Tevinter. An elven mage, an elven rogue, a dwarven rogue, and a spirit in human form was quite the eclectic group already and they were sure to grab much attention. Luckily for them, Jasper was good at scaring people off - one good thing of his upbringing, he supposed.

Jasper wasn’t sure what could be luring Cole to the Hinterlands. Whatever it was, it had hurt him, that was for sure. Cole was twitchy and jumpy the whole ride, scared and nervous. Jasper hadn’t really considered that Cole had existed before the Inquisition started. Jasper sort of assumed he just popped up because he wanted to help them, and so he manifested as human. Evidently he’d done _something_. Jasper didn’t know what he did before the Inquisition, and Cole had never volunteered that information.

They dismounted their horses near the Lantern and the Gull and continued on foot, Cole leading them forward, the agitation more pronounced. He was breathing heavily. His eyes were darting incessantly around them, his hat flopping low. They were climbing a small hill in the village, off to the side of one of the residences, and a man approached them warily, looking between them sketchily as a dwarf slinked away into the shadows behind him. His eyes widened with recognition as he realized they were Inquisition.

“Greetings,” he said, nodding. “Can I help you with anything?”

Cole froze, pale blue eyes locked on the man. “ _You_.”

Jasper looked over at Cole, but he was gone, and then he reappeared right in front of the man, pinning him down to the ground with a hand, dagger raised. “You killed me!” Cole seethed as the man cried out with fear.

“What?” the man gasped. “I don’t even know you!”

“You forgot!” Cole told him. “You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!”

“The Spire?” the man whispered, as if suddenly remembering something.

“Cole, stop!” Solas commanded, grabbing Cole by the arm. It was enough that the man got away, sprinting down the slope and to the edge of town.

“Just take it easy, kid,” Varric said to him, hands out placatingly.

“He killed me!” Cole shouted, looking around at them all. Jasper drew closer, his heart twinging. “He _killed_ me. That’s why it doesn’t work. He killed me, and I have to kill him back!”

“Cole, take a breath, please,” Jasper said, carefully resting a hand on Cole’s arm. Cole sucked in a sharp breath, but it wasn’t really the deep, calming one that Jasper had been envisioning. “Please explain to me what’s going on.”

“This man could not have killed you, Cole,” Solas explained sternly. “You are a spirit. You have not even _possessed_ a body.”

Cole turned away. “A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He _starved_ to death.”

Varric shook his head sadly. Jasper reached for Cole again, but thought better. So that’s what happened to Cole, huh? The real Cole, before this spirit got involved, or whatever. What an awful way to go.

“I came through to help,” Cole continued. “And...I couldn’t. So I became him. Cole.”

“If Cole was an apostate,” Varric mused. “Then that would make the guy we just saw a templar. Must’ve buying lyrium.”

“Let me kill him,” Cole begged, voice raw and angry and full of vengeance. Not the Cole Jasper knew at all. “I need to... _I need to_.”

How far apart were compassion and vengeance, anyway? Jasper glanced at Cole as he walked away, pacing in the grass. Varric and Solas started arguing. Jasper glanced up at the blue sky. Something the real Cole didn’t get to see before he was taken and thrown away. Jasper remembered how at the Rose, he’d gone years without seeing the sun. It would ruin his complexion, Auntie had told him. He’d only seen it through windows, kept in the house at all times. He looked over at Cole, so pale and thin. He hadn’t been able to escape his hell. Maybe if he had, it would’ve landed him somewhere just as bad, like Jasper had.

If Jasper had the chance to go back and redo it, would he? Would he have killed Auntie? Would he have let her go? Would he have killed every single patron, every filthy pervert who had touched him, every barbaric degenerate who had hurt him?

Jasper tuned back into Varric and Solas’s discussion. “We’re not suggesting he actually murder anyone, are we?”

“Absolutely not,” they both answered.

“The spirit of compassion known as Cole has been perverted from its purpose,” Solas explained, hands folded behind his back in his power-pose. “To regain it, he must forgive this man.”

“You don’t just forgive someone killing you,” Varric countered. “He’s angry. He needs to work through this and grow.”

“A spirit does not ‘work through emotions’,” Solas explained angrily. “It embodies them!”

“But he isn’t just a spirit, is he?” Varric continued, gesturing to Cole pacing the grass and shaking his hands. “He made the choice to make himself human, and humans change; they get hurt, and they _heal_. He needs to work it out like a person.”

Jasper took a deep breath and blinked quickly to stave off the tears in his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel that Varric was speaking directly to him. Even if that were not his intentions, he was saying exactly what Jasper had always needed to hear. What Jasper wished he had heard years ago. Maybe he wouldn’t have become a victim again and again if he had been able to work through things.

Solas shook his head. “You would alter the essence of what he is.”

“He did that to himself when he left the Fade,” Varric told him. “I’m just helping him survive it.”

“I agree with Varric,” Jasper said suddenly, and his voice sounded weird even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “He’ll never grow if he doesn’t come to terms with this. We need to...we need to support him and help him. We’re his friends and he needs us.”

Solas scowled at Jasper like he really was _that_ idiotic. But he didn’t say anything.

Varric nodded, though the look he gave Jasper said that he understood. He understood not just Cole, but Jasper too, and Jasper looked away uneasily. “Leave it to me, Fluff.”

Varric gathered Cole and led him onward, and they chased after the templar, Jasper and Solas following behind. They tracked the templar down to the edge of a cliff overlooking Lake Calenhad below. On either side was dense forest. The man froze, took a step backwards. He was at the end of the line. He whirled around when he heard a twig snap, and saw Varric and Cole approaching him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” the man pleaded, eyeing the weapons on their bodies.

“Sorry isn’t gonna help him now, is it, kid?” Varric asked, glancing upward at Cole.

“No,” Cole replied darkly, sending a shiver down Jasper’s spine as he reached them.

Varric loaded his modified crossbow and passed her over to Cole. “Pull the trigger, and put him down like a mad dog.”

Jasper worried his lip. He thought they weren’t going to kill anyone? Still, he waited. He trusted Varric. He knew Varric wouldn’t do anything stupid. Varric was a good person, the best person that Jasper had probably ever gotten to know. Cole hefted up the crossbow and aimed her at the templar, cowering at the edge of the cliff. He took a breath and squeezed the trigger with a shout.

Nothing. It clicked, but no bolt flew loose. Cole gasped a breath and the crossbow nearly fell from his hands. Varric grabbed it, patted Cole on the arm.

“How you doing, kid?” Varric asked gently. “Feel any better?”

“No,” Cole said quietly, staring at the ground, his hands opening and closing.

“You can’t just make it go away by hurting someone,” Varric told him. “I learned that the hard way.”

Cole took a step toward the templar as he rose. “Forget - “

But Varric cut him off. “No, kid. He needs to remember. You do, too. Come on, now.”

Jasper and Solas let Cole and Varric reach them, and then the four of them headed back to their camp, Varric leading Cole with a hand on his back. Jasper was quiet as they returned to camp, his thoughts jumbling up unhappily in his brain. Varric was right, of course. You couldn’t just make things better by doing things to other people. It had to come from within.

Once they were back, Jasper turned in for the night, even though the sun hadn’t even set yet. He lay down on his bedroll and stared at the ceiling, heart and head both hurting. After a while, he heard the flap to his tent open and Cole peeked in.

“You’re hurting, too,” he whispered. “I still feel it.”

Jasper chuckled. “It’s okay, Cole. I know you know what I’ve been through. All that is...far behind me. But I’m where I’m at now, and I’m happy with that. But...do you want to talk about things?”

“I talked with Varric,” Cole told him. “He said it’s good for me to talk about these things and to listen to other people. He said I should talk to you.”

Jasper sat up. “Varric is a smart man, you know. You should take his advice.”

Cole sat down on the ground, watching Jasper. “Do _you_ want to talk, Jasper?” The words seemed so bizarre coming from Cole. Usually, he just plucked the thoughts from one’s head. He couldn’t help it, of course, being a spirit. When people thought things, especially things tied to strong emotion, it was like waving a bright flag and sounding an alarm in Cole’s face. But he was working on that. Being more human.

“Of course, Cole,” Jasper said, crossing his legs crisscross applesauce and facing Cole. “I always love to talk.”

***  
Cole couldn’t disappear and reappear at will anymore. He couldn’t make people forget him anymore, either. It stressed him out at first, made him anxious and agitated, but Varric was working with him on that, explaining how now he could get to know other people and be a real person involved with others.

“He’s grown up so fast,” Jasper commented, throwing an arm around Varric’s shoulders. “Brings a tear to my eye.”

Varric chuckled. “He really has. I’m proud of him. Thank you, Fluff.”

Jasper shrugged. “We all have shitty pasts, let’s be real. We’ve all had hardships and pain. Cole just has to catch up on that.”

“We all need to talk to other people,” Varric said with a sigh, looking up at Jasper with a look in his eye. “How are _you_ feeling, Fluffy?”

Jasper shook his head. “Like shit, most of the time. But, like, better shit. Not a bad quality shit. A fairly decent quality shit.”

“Well, shit,” Varric laughed. “Listen, Fluff. I know we need to talk. I know things have been busy, but since Adamant…”

Jasper sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s.”

***  
Varric was still his friend, and a dear one at that who didn’t blame him for what happened in the Fade, and Jasper couldn’t have expected half as good. It hurt, and Jasper cried a lot, and even Varric cried, which was something Jasper had never seen, but he was glad to have his friend back.

But then Solas cornered Jasper and lectured him on the fiasco with Cole. Jasper rolled his eyes and shoved past the egg-headed elf. “Back the fuck off, Solas, okay?” Jasper snapped. “It’s done. Cole is _happy_. Did you see him talking to Maryden in the tavern? Have you ever seen him talk to anyone before without making them forget? Have you ever seen him talk to people about things other than their pain?”

Solas opened his mouth to argue. Jasper cut him off with a hand. “Stop, Solas. I’m serious. Let Cole be.”

Solas sighed and turned away, shaking his head and probably muttering some ancient elven curse under his breath. Jasper watched him go, frowning, wondering what was _up_ with the stick in his ass. Out of everyone in the Inquisition, he was the one Jasper simply could not wrap his mind around. Sera and Vivienne were difficult people for Jasper to be around, sure, but he got where they were coming from, he respected them and they respected him. Solas, on the other hand...Jasper didn’t get him, and he didn’t like Solas’ constant undermining of Jasper’s decisions that he disagreed with. It was really a piss-off.

Alas. Jasper didn’t think there was really any way he could manage to chase the elf off, short of burning all elven alienages to the ground, and Jasper wasn’t that insane yet. Still, maybe he’d figure out something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter and no smut, sorry :( Just some character development lol. Sorry for the delay, I found a reboot of a video game i used to play when I was younger (!!!!!) this is great news. Pls lmk if you played pirates of the caribbean online I'll marry you.
> 
> I am a little unhappy with previous chapters so I might go back and fix some things. I'm also unhappy that I cut something out of my story, so I will be reorganizing things and writing it back in, so I don't know when my next update will be!! Mini hiatus! Might be a week (no longer than usual lol) might be a month, hopefully it won't be too long bc I've got so much ready for y'all!


	20. A Whole Lot of Fucking Stuff

Jasper was back in the Fade. The memory of being with Laila was taunting him. The Nightmare demon liked to dangle the idea of her in front of Jasper like bait. Her long, auburn hair, her tawny skin and dark eyes, her wide, wicked smile. And every time, it ended the same: rushing into that room, stopping Corypheus. Laila was nowhere in sight, but who could survive the explosion?

He woke with a start, as always, sitting upright, breath heaving, heart racing. Sweat ran down the back of his neck as he ran his fingers through his hair. Dorian was already awake, watching Jasper with concern, hands half-reaching to him. It was dim in the room, since the curtains were pulled shut over all the windows; Jasper could barely see him. Dorian sat up and leaned over the side of the bed to light a candle on the bedside table. Then he turned to Jasper.

“Another nightmare?” he asked, the small firelight flickering over his face, resting a hand on Jasper’s back.

Jasper nodded as he slowly got himself back under control, trying to calm his breathing. Dorian’s hand disappeared, and a moment later he was pushing a glass of water into Jasper’s hands. Jasper hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. He licked his parched lips and drained the cup in a couple of gulps, hands shaking.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, handing back the cup.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dorian asked, setting down the cup. He turned so he was facing Jasper fully, sitting crisscross applesauce on the bed, the sheets partially draped across his knees. Jasper turned, too, and pulled his legs up so he could rest his arms and his chin on his knees.

“Just the Fade, again,” Jasper said into his knees, shrugging, keeping his eyes averted. The dreams were so realistic, so disturbing, sometimes he had trouble differentiating them from reality. He blinked, and he saw Laila’s face. He blinked, and he saw Corypheus.

Dorian was chewing his lip uncertainly, a habit he had definitely picked up from Jasper. Jasper found that endearing, but also found it hard to tease Dorian about that. Right then, at least. When his heart was hammering for all the wrong reasons and he felt like the last person in the world capable of stopping evil when he couldn’t even save the girl he’d liked. “Jasper...look, I’m not being judgmental. But...I heard you say her name again. In your sleep. Laila.”

Jasper sighed heavily. Of course. And Jasper could understand Dorian’s apprehension, he really could. If Dorian started crying out someone else’s name while they slept, Jasper would be very concerned, too. “She’s dead, Dorian, so don’t worry about it.”

Dorian made an annoyed noise as Jasper turned away. He grabbed Jasper’s arm to stop him. “You ever think that maybe I’m worried about _you_? Your well-being? Why is this girl always in your nightmares? What did she do to you?”

Jasper bit his lip, careful not to catch the ring through it, looking anywhere but Dorian. He pulled away from him and turned to drop his feet over the edge of the bed. He stayed like that for a moment and then stood up. “It’s not what she did to me, Dorian, that haunts me. It’s what I did to her.”

Jasper shuffled over to his desk and grabbed a bottle of liquor off it, ripping out the cork and tossing it away. He took a couple of big gulps directly from the bottle, and Dorian got off the bed and followed him over. Jasper offered him the bottle, and Dorian took it, though only took a small sip. He set the bottle down and put a hand on Jasper’s chin, tilting it up and toward him to try and make their eyes meet.

“You’re not going to scare me away, Jasper,” Dorian told him earnestly. “I really do mean it. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Jasper reached for the bottle again, but Dorian grabbed his hand instead, then brought it to his lips. Jasper swallowed, watching his perfect Dorian with shuttered, sad hazel eyes. “I need something if I’m gonna talk about this. I’m serious.”

Dorian looked at the bottle, then back to Jasper, his eyes worried. “Fine, _amatus_.”

Jasper’s chuckle was dry and short. He grabbed the bottle round the neck and took a long draw from it, the amber liquid burning as it went down. He felt self-conscious with Dorian’s eyes on him, studying, always studying. Jasper wondered what he saw there. What he saw that drew him closer instead of chased him away. Jasper leaned against the desk, folding his arms around himself, bottle clutched still in his long, bony fingers.

“Laila is dead because of me,” he told Dorian. “She was...well, actually, we were all along the road into Haven, me and my little outfit of bandits. Robbing caravans and pilgrims. Anyway, a group of soldiers routed us out, arrested me, and the others got away safely. Laila came back for me. Broke me out. And instead of listening to her, instead of just vamoosing our little asses out of there and not looking back, I wanted to steal shit and went snooping through the temple, and - “

He choked up, mouth moving but no words coming out. He ducked his head, taking another swig from the bottle, wishing he could crawl into that bottle and drown. Dorian hesitated, then wrapped his arms around Jasper, pulling him closer. Jasper rested his forehead on Dorian’s shoulder, still not understanding _why_ Dorian cared for him, or how. But Jasper didn’t pull away. He liked the feeling of Dorian around him, even if it was entirely selfish.

“Did you love her?” Dorian asked after a long, quiet moment.

Jasper shrugged, setting the bottle down heavily on the desk. “I don’t know. Maybe. I...we were good friends. She was my second in command. And we fucked around sometimes. Purely physical. Nothing serious, nothing romantic. So I don’t really know...I mean, I guess I did, right? She was my closest friend. I definitely loved her as my friend. Does that make a difference?”

“Love isn’t the most straightforward thing,” Dorian said softly, but what did he know? He’d never been in love before. He’d loved Felix, though, that was for sure, but that wasn’t the same. And he’d had...numerous lovers, he’d pined for men, he’d lusted after them...but when had he _ever_ felt like _this_ before? “When...after Haven, when we found you, I was there helping Vivienne save your life. You called out to Laila then. You were mostly unintelligible, but some words were very clear. Like ‘Laila’ and ‘love’.”

Jasper wrapped his arms around Dorian. His voice was muffled against Dorian’s soft skin. “Doesn’t matter now. She’s dead because she stuck with me, because she trusted me. My fault.” Like so many others.

“It’s not your fault, Jasper,” Dorian insisted. “Nobody knew what was going to happen. It’s Corypheus’ fault, not yours. He’s the one to blame. And a lot more people would’ve died if you hadn’t stumbled upon him. We might all be dead by now.”

Jasper sighed. “You’re right. I know that, I do, but it’s just not clicking with my emotions. I’ve known this for months, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like utter shit all the time. Like I should’ve done more, or I should’ve just listened to Laila and run for our lives. She might still be alive now, even if we’d all be killed by Corypheus anyway - it doesn’t make sense. I know that. But…I mean, I’ve never even had a chance to mourn her, Dorian. Because everything has been nonstop end-of-the-world bullshit since the explosion.”

Dorian rubbed circles into Jasper’s back soothingly. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s called survivor’s guilt. I would feel the same way, in your shoes. I’m sorry.”

Jasper took a breath, feeling like he might tear apart at the seams at any second. As he breathed out, Jasper practically collapsed into Dorian, and Dorian led him over to the couch. Jasper curled up on it, shivering, and Dorian tossed one of the _many_ blankets from the bed over to him. Jasper rather liked his blankets. And pillows. It was very Orlesian of him, Dorian thought, with all the blankets and pillows piled high on the large bed. It was also very cute and endearing, and infinitely better than Dorian’s bed here in the keep.

“Do you want me to get you hot chocolate from the kitchens?” Dorian asked, bending down and brushing back a loose curl from Jasper’s forehead. Dorian didn’t know why that idea had popped into his head. It was what one of his nannies had done for him whenever he was scared, when a nightmare had seemed too real.

Jasper nodded, looking up at Dorian with utter adoration. It made Dorian’s cheeks flush. “I would love that. But I don’t think there’s anyone down there at this hour, and it’s all locked up. Besides...do you even _know_ how to make hot chocolate, Mister Altus?”

Dorian rolled his eyes as he pulled on his trousers and a shirt. “How hard can it be? It’s powdered cocoa and milk.”

“And sugar,” Jasper said, flopping back on the couch. “And the milk has to be hot. Ugh, we’d have to get a fire going. I changed my mind. I just want booze.”

Dorian wiggled his fingers at Jasper. “Remembering who you’re working with, Jasper, dearest. Come on, get up, get dressed. We’re making hot chocolate whether you like it or not.”

Jasper rolled his eyes, but let Dorian pull him to his feet. “Fine. If you insist.”

Once Jasper at least had his nether regions covered - with a skirt, since he really couldn’t bring himself to wear trousers - they headed downstairs and into the main hall, creeping quietly past the still-burning braziers. Down a side passage and another flight of stairs they went, holding hands and tiptoeing, like a couple of bandits sneaking away in the night. Jasper couldn’t help a soft, surprised giggle, which led to Dorian laughing, too, as if he’d just been waiting for an excuse to do so.

They stumbled through the corridors, snickering and clutching each other, and Jasper looked up at Dorian, hair sleep-mussed and clothes rumpled - so out of character for him - and wondered if he was in love. Was this love? Maybe Jasper was just high as fuck, or maybe those few hasty gulps of liquor had been enough to get him drunk, or perhaps he was light-headed and was actually quite sick. But he felt warm and happy as he looked up at Dorian, so unkempt, so beautiful. Holding his hand. Sneaking around Skyhold with him.

“Shh, careful!” Dorian hissed, pulling Jasper into a nook behind a statue of Andraste. “Guards.”

Jasper started giggling, and Dorian clapped a hand over his mouth, biting his own lip as he did so, trying to keep his laughter contained. Jasper grinned under his hand and cupped Dorian through his trousers. Dorian’s eyes went wide and Jasper kept eye contact like that as he fondled Dorian. They stood like that, barely breathing, as a pair of guards marched by, chit-chatting about when they might be deployed in the field next.

The moment the guards were out of sight, Jasper burst out laughing, shoving away Dorian’s hand and pressing closer to him, slipping his hand inside Dorian’s trousers. Dorian groaned and leaned forward to kiss Jasper, twining his hand in Jasper’s curls. And then he pulled away just as suddenly, leaving Jasper pouting.

“Hot chocolate first,” Dorian explained, grabbing Jasper’s hands by the wrist.

Jasper had to admit, the whole sneaking-around thing was kind of hot, even if it made no sense since all the guards technically worked for Jasper. Ducking into empty corridors and niches, kissing and petting quietly while hiding from guards. It was so fucking hot. As if they were a couple of stupid, horny teenagers. Jasper had been a stupid teenager, and a horny one, once he got to choose his own partners after the Rose. But then he’d had a controlling boyfriend. It wasn’t like he had much opportunity to sneak around.

Well, there were the nobles he’d bedded, and the married people, but that didn’t have so much _sneaking around_ as running for his life when he got caught by an angry husband or wife.

The kitchen was, predictably, locked up, but that’s what Jasper was there for. He had his toolbelt, and slid out a couple of lockpicks as he knelt in front of the lock. He inserted them and twisted them around, rotating, until the lock clicked and sprung open. Jasper pulled the door open and pulled Dorian through into the dark, empty kitchen. Dorian cast a spell that lit all the candles and lanterns around the room, and Jasper set to rooting through the larder for milk while Dorian looked for cocoa and sugar in the pantry.

They got a small fire going and Jasper poured the milk into a pot that he hooked over the flames, letting it slowly come to a boil. Dorian popped back out of the pantry with his quaesitum, a bit of dust dirtying his waves and capping his nose. Jasper couldn’t stop the adoring smile that spread over his face at the sight. Dorian opened his mouth to ask what exactly Jasper was smirking about, but Jasper pulled Dorian close and kissed him again, and walked him back into one of the many tables. The dishes on it clattered as Dorian bumped the table, and Jasper’s hands braced on the smooth wood surface on either side of Dorian’s hips. Dorian cupped the back of Jasper’s head and tilted it, kissing him more deeply.

Jasper pulled back suddenly. “The milk’s gonna boil over,” he mumbled against Dorian’s soft lips before turning to check on the now-steaming milk. He poured it into a chipped mug with a spoonful of cocoa and sugar each, mixing it together. He felt Dorian’s gaze on him, watching, and turned to smile at him.

“Did you want any?” he asked, tapping the spoon on the edge of the mug gently to remove excess.

Dorian chuckled. “I must refuse, I’m afraid. A man must watch his figure.”

Jasper raked his eyes up and down Dorian’s body lasciviously. “I can watch it for you, free of charge, Master Pavus.”

Dorian smirked. “I’m sure you can, Lord Inquisitor. Now, are you happy with your hot chocolate, _amatus_?”

“Very,” Jasper said, taking a cautious sip. He smiled softly at Dorian. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“I thought you could use a pick-me-up,” Dorian said, wrapping an arm around Jasper’s waist. “Come, let’s head back to bed now. What will people say if we get caught skulking about Skyhold at such an ungodly hour?”

“Hopefully very dirty things,” Jasper suggested, taking Dorian’s hand in his as they left the kitchen behind. “Incredibly disgusting, unjustifiably immoral, and utterly debased things. I hope it gets back to Mother Giselle and she swoons from the shame of the Herald of Andraste carousing with the Evil Magister.”

Dorian sighed. “I do wish you southerners would ease up on the whole Tevinter thing. It was comical at first, now it’s just depressing and disappointing.”

Jasper squeezed Dorian’s hand. “I know, darling. If only everyone were as charming and debonair as you.”

Dorian scoffed. “Oh, please. I _am_ one of a kind, really.”

“That you are,” Jasper agreed, rising on his tiptoes to kiss Dorian on the cheek. “ _Vhenan_.”

***  
After a particularly dozy mid-morning tea with Josie and some visiting nobles, Jasper went looking for Dorian, seeking a bit of a pick-me-up. Jasper found him in the library, pestering Ned for exotic tomes and complaining about the lack of more interesting magical texts. Everything was so bland to the mage. So safe. Nothing daring and unique.

Jasper sidled up beside Dorian silently, startling him nearly out of his skin. “ _Kaffas_!” he gasped, hand splayed over his chest. He gave Jasper a reproachful look. “Jasper, I do love when you make my heart race, but not like that.”

Jasper grinned cheekily up at him. “Watching you flustered is one of life’s simple pleasures, Dorian.”

“I am _not_ ‘flustered,’” Dorian insisted indignantly, nose in the air.

Ned glanced between them and disappeared quickly, nearly tripping over the hem of his robes in his haste. Jasper barely noticed. Dorian set down his stack of books, surveying Jasper properly now. “Those new clothes Josephine commissioned are really quite fetching on you,” Dorian remarked. “The blue brings out your eyes.”

Jasper blushed and rolled his eyes, hiding his pleasure. “They’re _not_ blue, I’ve already told Josie that. They’re brown.”

“Oh, _amatus_ ,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head in disbelief and surrender, as if Jasper were some sort of lost cause. Jasper snorted as Dorian turned away. “Tell me you’re not serious?”

“I absolutely am,” Jasper said, following him. Dorian led him down the stairs and out of the library. “They’ve always been brown.”

“Maybe to one as uncultured and uncouth as you,” Dorian replied disdainfully, shaking his head as they continued through the stone halls. “But to those with a discerning eye, you have the most beautiful eyes. Green and gold and blue.”

Jasper’s face was scarlet as they paused outside a wooden door in a lonely corridor. There were a couple other identical doors, lots of statues of Andraste. Jasper glanced to the door, then back to Dorian. “Sounds brown if you ask me.”

Dorian entered the room. Jasper realized it was Dorian’s bedroom. Pretty spartan quarters, particularly for a ‘Vint altus. It was a large room by barracks’ standards, small by nobility’s. It had a few narrow windows along the far wall, overlooking not much of anything, and sparse furnishings, just the basics, but very good quality basics.

“I’ve never been in your room before,” Jasper remarked, running a hand over the writing desk and a huge, precarious stack of books on it. There was another stack of books on the dresser, and on the floor beside his bed, and beside the wardrobe; a few scattered across the bed. Magical items and tokens were strewn across the desk. A small vase of wilting yellow roses stood on the windowsill.

“Well, you see why I like spending time in _yours_ so much more,” Dorian responded, adding a book to one of the many piles to be read.

“Nice flowers,” Jasper said, touching the withering petals gently. One delicate petal fell to the floor softly.

“A gift,” Dorian said, waving his hand dismissively, as a polite knock sounded at the door. “From who knows.”

Behind the door was a messenger. They nodded stiffly to Dorian, eyes sliding to the side to land on Jasper. A blush colored their cheeks as Dorian tried to block the visible space into his room, snapping at the messenger impatiently. The messenger handed Dorian a parcel and saluted, neck craned to try and see the Inquisitor again, before Dorian shut the door sharply.

“Such a busy-body,” Dorian complained, setting the item given to him by the messenger on the desk. Jasper glanced at it. A bottle of wine, a colorful ribbon tied around its neck. “Really. It’s as if he’d never seen you before.”

Jasper coughed slightly. “I think it still shocks the soldiers that I’m shorter than most of them. Or something like that. Whatever. What’s the wine for? You have something planned?” Jasper grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

Dorian frowned and fondled the ribbon. “No. It’s another gift, I suppose.”

“A gift?” Jasper repeated, turning away from the wilted yellow roses. “Another? From whom?”

Dorian suddenly seemed quite involved in straightening up his desk, rearranging books and setting magical items in different places. Jasper licked his lips. Dorian sighed, thumbing a soft, embroidered handkerchief he was shoving around the desk as if looking for a place for it. “Nobody. Rather, someone of no import. Some ill romantic, I suppose, who can’t seem to take a hint.”

Jasper made himself laugh, even though he didn’t feel very mirthful. “Ooh, a secret admirer, eh?” He drew nearer to Dorian. “How cute. He sends you wine. And flowers,” Jasper added, glancing with venom toward the roses.

Dorian sighed. “And liquor and jewelry and books. Whoever they are, they are persistent.”

Jasper frowned. “Do you know who they are?”

Dorian shook his head. “I wish I did. I could break their heart properly, the way a Tevinter altus worth his salt would.”

Jasper chuckled weakly. “Would it be terribly cliche and gross if I said I don’t like it?”

“I don’t like it either, _amatus_ ,” Dorian assured him. But it wasn’t a stranger giving Dorian gifts that bothered Jasper so. It was that Dorian kept them, used them, displayed them. And yet he resisted gifts from Jasper. Jasper gnawed on his bottom lip, minding the ring, as Dorian reached for his hand, drawing him in close for a kiss. Jasper obliged, wondering sourly why Dorian accepted these gifts. He was obviously used to a life of luxury and grandeur, a life where he would want for not, where he could afford anything that tickled his fancy, anything at all. He had left that behind when he had run away from home...and ended up in the ass-end of nowhere, on a freezing cold mountain, far away from proper civilization and modern amenities and luxurious add-ons. Maybe that’s why he kept these wondrous gifts. He must miss his pampered lifestyle more than he let on. But still, why didn’t he accept Jasper’s gifts?

“Jasper?” Dorian asked, concerned, drawing back. “You seemed preoccupied.”

Jasper shook his head, mostly to clear it. “Just...tired, is all.” No one could call him out on that one. Half the nights, he woke up screaming with nightmares. The other half, he couldn’t fall asleep for the life of him.

Dorian wrapped his arms around Jasper. He rested his chin on Jasper’s shoulder, glancing out the window behind him. “You have nothing to worry about, Jasper, I assure you.” He sighed at the pouty look on Jasper’s face. “At least, not on this account. Really. I’d be a fool to cross you, you know that, and an even bigger fool to give you up.”

He punctuated this by grabbing Jasper’s ass with both his hands, and Jasper let out a yelp that was possibly the most embarrassing sound that had ever come out of his mouth. Embarrassing to him, at least. Dorian didn’t seem to mind. He was grinning as he walked Jasper back into the wall, pinning Jasper’s hands to the wall above his head.

Jasper licked his lips and swallowed, eyes half-lidded as Dorian bent to kiss his neck, trailing slow kisses to his collarbone. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to distract me, _vhenan_?” Jasper asked, craning his neck to give Dorian better access.

“You’re the distracting one here,” Dorian countered, nipping at Jasper’s pulse point. Jasper bit his lip to suppress his moan.

“I just - “ Jasper groaned when Dorian wedged his leg between Jasper’s, pressing his knee gently against Jasper’s nether regions. “Maker’s breath, Dorian, don’t stop. But why do you keep these gifts around? It’s rather unbecoming to accept gifts from someone when you’re in a relationship.”

“Hmm, why let good wine go to waste?” Dorian replied, holding Jasper’s hands with just one of his so he could trail the other down Jasper’s tunic, under the hem, and over his abdomen and chest. “Good flowers, good jewelry. Terribly wasteful if I threw them all away. Besides, Jasper, you have a constant stream of gifts from nobles who want to fuck you.”

Jasper let out a shaky breath. “That’s different, they all know I’m a slut. You, on the other hand, are far too good a man for that excuse.”

Dorian chuckled against Jasper’s skin. “You cut me too much slack, _amatus_. Careful, people will think you’re sweet on me if they hear you talk about me like that.”

“Maker forbid,” Jasper said with mock-scandal and a false gasp. He lifted his leg and hitched it over Dorian’s hip, pulling him closer, flush against him. “I’d hate for people to think I’m taken, of course.”

“It would be utterly deplorable if the nobles knew of our relationship,” Dorian agreed, kissing and sucking at the pulse point of Jasper’s neck. He was sure to leave a hickey the size of Thedas. “Absolutely shameful if they knew the way you whimper and beg for me to fuck you harder.”

Jasper swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I do _not_ beg. There’s no need; you’re more than eager to oblige.”

Dorian chuckled against Jasper’s neck, thumb brushing over Jasper’s nipple. “Shush. If someone hears you, they’ll think you just keep me around for easy ass.”

Jasper hummed. “Stop fucking talking, Dorian. Put that mouth of yours to better use.”

Dorian, for once, actually listened. He captured Jasper’s lips with a searing kiss, and Jasper slipped his wrists from Dorian’s hold to lock around the back of his neck, his long fingers carding through Dorian’s unbelievably soft hair. Jasper loved his hair. He loved it almost as much as Dorian’s ridiculous mustache, or that crease between his eyebrows he got when he was thinking too much, or the mole under his right eye. But his hair...Jasper would never tire of running his hands through it.

“Oh, Dorian,” Jasper moaned as his lover’s hands set to unfastening their trousers. From the side table next to the bed, Dorian grabbed a vial of lube and uncorked it with his teeth, which Jasper found altogether too alluring. Dorian doused his fingers with some of the oil, then hoisted one of Jasper’s legs over his hips, still pressing him against the wall, and wasted no time before sliding a finger slowly into Jasper. Jasper gasped, but relaxed quickly, so eager to be filled by Dorian. He slipped in another finger, and Jasper bit his lip and clung to Dorian tighter as he scissored his fingers, stretching him gently.

“Stop taking your fucking time,” Jasper growled, nipping at Dorian’s throat and then kissing it, tongue swiping over his skin. “None of this gentle shit. Fucking break me, Dorian.”

And oh, did Dorian oblige. He pulled his fingers out, and Jasper mourned their loss, but not for long. Dorian shifted Jasper against the wall, lifting his other leg, and then slid his cock inside the elf all at one, none of that inch-by-inch nonsense. Jasper whimpered a little, but all he did was pull Dorian a little closer, a little farther. Dorian had one hand braced against the stone wall, the other clutching Jasper’s hip like a lifeline. Jasper’s legs were wrapped around Dorian’s hips, locked at the ankle, urging on Dorian’s thrusts. He was rough, this time. Forceful. Jasper revelled in it. He craved it. He _needed_ it.

Jasper took himself in hand and wanked, resting his forehead against Dorian’s still-clothed shoulder. Why were they not naked yet? Jasper perhaps would have pondered that longer, but Dorian did something rather fantastic with his hand and Jasper’s balls that left Jasper rather devoid of any sort of higher thought, other than _harder_ and _faster_ and _more_. Dorian faltered as he reached his climax and came deep inside Jasper, filling him with his seed. Jasper sped up his hand on his own cock and came a few moments later, spilling over Dorian’s fancy burgundy robes.

“Shit,” Jasper gasped as he dropped his legs to the floor. Dorian kept his hands at Jasper’s hips as he wobbled a little. “Sorry about your clothes. That was really good, though. Nice and quick. I’m not even going to be that late for the council meeting.”

They both glanced at the clock on the wall as Dorian chuckled. “You’re cutting it rather close, my darling.”

Jasper shrugged and pulled his trousers up, straightening his clothes and running fingers through his always-messy curls. Dorian was standing in front of his wardrobe, searching for a fresh set of robes. “I usually do. How do I look?”

Dorian’s eyes swept over him with residual heat and lust, but also...a soft fondness. Affection. It made Jasper blush more than being fucked against a wall ever could. “Beautiful, as always, _amatus_.”

Jasper couldn’t help the little genuine smile on his lips. Dorian’s hand hovered over cobalt blue robes, then moved on. Jasper came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, careful to avoid his...mess. He pressed a kiss to Dorian’s neck, just below his ear. “You should wear the green. I like that one a lot.”

“You just like it because it hugs my arse,” Dorian quipped, lips quirked in a half-smirk.

“Okay, and?” Jasper countered before pulling away. Dorian reached for him again and gave him another quick, chaste kiss on the lips. Just a peck really. “I’ll see you later, _vhenan_.”

“I do so look forward to it, Inquisitor.”

***  
The next day, Jasper was in his latest fitting, feeling rather sore, the respectable suit coming together on him. The double-breasted jacket was a stunning shade of blue, just a tad muted, and hugged his figure better than anything he’d ever worn before. It wasn’t disgustingly clingy like some getups he’d worn in the past, either. He seemed more broad-shouldered. The dark slacks made him seem taller, and maybe he was going crazy, but had Josephine put lifts in his new boots? Either way, he wasn’t complaining. He cut a rather dashing figure in the long mirror propped against the wall of her office for these fittings. And the fabric was easy to move in, a necessity.

Jasper startled when he saw Leliana seemingly materialize out of nowhere behind him in the mirror, a purple shadow in the brightly lit room. He nodded to her in the mirror and waved away the tailors, told them to take a quick fifteen, get a bite to eat from the kitchens, drop his name to get sweet rolls. They scattered quickly, but Josephine remained, putting down her quill at her desk.

“Is this a private matter?” she asked, rising halfway out of her seat. “I can give you two a moment.”

Leliana shook her head. “Stay, Josie.”

Leliana approached Jasper, Josie joining her, and he stepped down from the platform, running his hands over his doublet. “Not to toot my own horn, but I look rather sexy, don’t I? Not my usual rugged sexy, but more of a Prince Charming kind of sexy.”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Whatever pleases you, Inquisitor.”

“Have you heard back from your agent?” Jasper asked, trying to mask the concern in his voice. “About...Lavellan?”

She nodded. “Jester informs me that Wycome has been experiencing a plague that only affects humans. He’s been trying to keep it quiet, but the nobles are loud and angry, and the people are ready to revolt. The entrance to the alienage has been barred; it would look bad if there were a riot, a massacre of the city elves, so he’s choosing to target the Dalish instead, as scapegoats, so it appears that he is taking action. Though chances are the city elves will not escape his villainy.”

Jasper sighed. “Fuck. What do we do?”

Leliana bit her lip, an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. “I could have him assassinated, but it would be a risky move, hard to pull off. I can’t predict the outcome.”

Josephine straightened. “He considers himself an ally of the Inquisition. My ambassadors can move where your agents cannot, Leliana. Leave this to me; however, it may take some time. I’ll write to my people immediately.”

She returned to her desk with an air of purpose, and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment before her, dabbing her magnificent eagle feather quill into a pot of ink before beginning her letter. She looked just as fearsome as Cullen did behind his sword and shield. She just wielded a weapon of a different sort.

Jasper picked at a pin holding his sleeve in place, staring out the window at the Frostbacks. Leliana shifted beside him, as if to let him know she was still there. She was not a fidgeter. He didn’t glance toward her, however.

“You’re nervous,” she remarked. “We will do everything in our power to save your clan, Jasper, rest assured of that.”

“Not my clan,” he said automatically, but it felt half-hearted. Something about seeing the Dalish in the Exalted Plains, speaking Elvish after so long, touching the toy of his childhood… It was bringing a lot of memories back, and he didn’t know what to do with them. He was feeling more kinship to his old clan than he had since before he was taken from them.

Leliana’s hand was gentle on his arm, so soft he couldn’t be sure she’d really touched him. It was out of character for her. “They’re not the ones you ought to blame. I’ve been in correspondence with them for months, which I’m sure you’ve assumed, and you can be angry with me if you like, but would you have answered their letters?”

Jasper shook his head angrily. She was right. He could be angry, but could he blame her? They needed allies everywhere.

“By the time your Keeper had realized you were gone, your mother had already gone looking for you and was likely already dead,” Leliana told him. “They looked, and found only her body, no trace of where’d you gone, except the tell-tale signs of a trap being laid for kidnapping. They’d seen it before, and knew you’d been taken by slavers, and that they were long gone. With no trace to track, they could do nothing but search in groups for you, and they couldn’t go very far without risking the entire clan.”

“I don’t care,” Jasper said softly, staring out at the Frostbacks. “They should’ve done something. Fuck the clan. A child was in danger.”

Leliana’s hand squeezed his arm slightly. “You’re angry. I understand that. I harbored a lot of anger against those who hurt me. I still do. It does not matter to me whether you hold onto that anger or release it. But consider who you’re _really_ angry with.”

Jasper closed his eyes, remembering that hot, hot summer day. His mother wouldn’t let him go out to the stream to play. She wouldn’t let him play with the older kids, who were apprenticing already. There was no one of Jasper's age. They were all either too old or too little, and he couldn’t play with either. His mother wouldn’t let him help with the important jobs, and he got bored of brushing the hallas. It was hot, and he wanted to play in the stream, so he snuck away, already so adept at picking the lock on the halla enclosure and disappearing, even at such a young age.

If she hadn’t been so strict...if she’d been paying attention…

If he’d listened to her...if he’d just done what he was told…

Jasper sighed heavily, a shuddering breath escaping him. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to blame my mom, and I already blame myself. But I was a _child_!”

Leliana said nothing to that, and after a moment withdrew her hand. The look on her face said that he had not given the right answer. But what was the right answer in this situation? “Let me know if you have any questions, Inquisitor.”

Leliana left as quietly as she had entered, leaving Jasper rather adrift. She was basically telling him to grow the fuck up and own up to his behavior, wasn’t she? He knew that objectively, it was the fault of the slavers. That was the easy answer. And that he should leave it at that. But he wanted to blame everyone. He took a deep breath, let it out. He needed to stop that nonsense.

“Josephine, can we call it quits for today?” he asked, tugging at the collar of the suit. “I...need a break.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she said, standing up and helping him out of the yet-complete uniform without damaging any of the alterations. Jasper pulled on his usual tunic and breeches and soft, leather boots, and strode quickly from her office to the gardens, sitting down on one of the low benches and watching bees flit lazily about, stopping on the occasional flower.

He sighed, rubbing his neck. There was something about being guilt-tripped by Leliana, of all people, that smarted. She was known for being cold, calculative, unyielding, precise. She was not known for her emotions, her sentimentality, her empathy. Jasper wondered what sort of person she’d been before her duty to the Divine had made her what everyone saw her as now. Surely, she hadn’t always been distant and cold?

Jasper looked up across the garden, and saw Cassandra reading a book in the shade near the gazebo, seeming entirely absorbed in the pages. Jasper grinned and stood up and sauntered over, footsteps barely rustling the leaves on the ground. She didn’t notice, didn’t look up as he approached, leaning over her shoulder to get a look at the book.

“ _Swords and Shields_?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Cassandra literally _leapt_ out of her skin, slamming the book shut and hiding it behind her back as she stood and turned, facing Jasper, her cheeks red as a tomato. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said furiously, not entirely convincing.

“It may surprise you to know that I’ve learned how to read,” Jasper informed her. “Though I do believe we’ve gone over this.”

“They’re...reports, from Commander Cullen,” Cassandra claimed with conviction

Jasper snorted, raising an eyebrow. “You know, you’re a fair liar. I’d hate to play Diamondback with you. Except that I can literally see what you're reading, and it’s not reports.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and looked away. “It’s of no importance to you, I’m certain. It’s just a book.”

“Yes, I’m not blind, Cassandra, I do know what a book looks like,” Jasper teased, glad to have his mind off things, at least for now.

“It’s…” She sighed, as if in great pain. “It’s one of Varric’s books. The latest chapter.”

“The latest chapter?” Jasper repeated. “Meaning...you’ve read them all?”

Cassandra ducked her head, blushing. “Not...since this all began, since we’ve been so busy.”

“That’s just her favorite,” Dorian’s voice chimed in as he sauntered over, having been eavesdropping as he’d looked around for Jasper to join him for lunch. “She’s got the whole collection, since we don’t carry them in the library.”

“No one asked you, _Tevinter_ ,” Cassandra snapped without any real animosity, scowling at the mage.

Dorian just laughed at her, coming to stand beside Jasper, propping his forearm on the elf’s shoulder, which irked Jasper because it really showed how short he actually was, even if he appeared tall. “I couldn’t even finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried.”

Jasper pinched Dorian’s cheek with his thumb and forefinger. “Now, now, don’t mock the Seeker for her...interests. Nobody makes fun of you for playing around with that chemistry set of yours in the underforge.”

Dorian blushed ever so slightly but laughed, grabbing Jasper’s pinching hand and holding it between them. Jasper sighed internally, wishing Dorian would’ve kissed his hand, or drawn him into an embrace, or done some other, ridiculous, flamboyant gesture of affection. But the mage was ever so demure in the public eye, avoiding any real PDA. Still, Jasper was a-okay with being able to hold hands with him in public.

“It’s literature,” Cassandra defended, then she seemed to deflate as she looked at the cover of her book. Resignedly, she amended, “ _Smutty_ literature. Just...whatever you do, don’t tell Varric.”

Jasper’s smirk widened. “Why not? I’m sure he’d love to know you’re a fan after all.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Don’t. They’re absolutely terrible, and _magnificent_. And this one ends in a cliffhanger. I know Varric is working on the next one, he must be!” Then she seemed struck by inspiration, and looked down into Jasper’s hazel eyes. “You! You could ask him to finish it, _command_ him to…” She seemed to regain herself when she realized Jasper and Dorian were barely concealing their laughter. She took a second to recompose herself, schooling her features into a scowl once more. “Pretend you don’t know this about me.” And she walked away as if her pride were still in-tact.

As soon as she turned the corner, Jasper burst out laughing, supporting himself on Dorian as they both chortled away, tears gathering in the corners of their eyes with the force of their laughter. “Oh, Maker, that is priceless,” Dorian chuckled. “I can’t believe she’s so passionate about that tripe!”

Jasper giggled, pulling Dorian behind him toward the keep. “I know, right? Though I’m sure many people say the same of me about you, _Tevinter_.” He grinned at Dorian’s shocked expression. “What, don’t like being compared to a trashy romance novel with pathetic, vanilla sex scenes?”

“Absolutely not,” Dorian huffed. “Do you really think I’m that average?”

Jasper pretended to consider. “You’ve got an impressive cock, but you’ve yet to bring out the ropes and handcuffs. Or a gag of any sort. Even roleplaying.”

Dorian was definitely blushing now. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that those are things you’re into. I’ve never really...had a chance to experiment like that, Jasper. With someone I trust.”

Jasper felt his heart melting, and he pulled Dorian close in the shadowy doorway between the gardens and the interior of the rest of the keep. “We can explore those things together, if you want. Figure out what you like, my lovely vanilla sugarplum.” He grinned at Dorian’s expression and kissed the tip of his nose. “Later, though, I need to find Varric first.”

“Are you really going to tell him Cassandra reads his smut?” Dorian asked incredulously, following Jasper, still holding his hand. “ _Avidly_ reads his smut?”

“Oi, Varric!” Jasper hailed, interrupting the dwarf’s conversation with a nobleman, grinning devilishly.

“Good morning to you, too, Fluffy,” Varric greeted with a smile. The nobleman from Kirkwall just bowed deeply with a stream of praises to Jasper, before slinking away, eyeing Jasper and Dorian’s linked hands. Dorian felt terribly self-conscious suddenly, and subtly slid his hand from Jasper’s, folding his hands behind his back instead. Jasper didn’t seem to notice.

“I have an incredibly important request for you, my dear hairy dwarf,” Jasper told him, putting an arm around his shoulder conspiratorially. He related the little scene Cassandra had made. “It’s of the utmost importance. And she is eagerly awaiting the newest chapter to be released.”

Varric blinked up at Jasper, then cleared his throat. “I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you just said _Cassandra_ reads my books. And not my good ones, either.”

Jasper nodded. “Oh, she’s a big fan. In fact, I’d wager to say she’s your _biggest_ fan.”

Varric shook his head. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Cassandra? Tall, grumpy seeker? Likes stabbing things? Imprisoned and interrogated me?”

“The one and only,” Dorian affirmed.

Varric sighed. “Well, she’ll be waiting a while, then. I haven’t finished _Swords and Shields_ and I wasn’t planning to. That book is easily the worst I’ve ever written. That last one barely sold enough to pay for the ink.”

Jasper pouted and gave Varric his best puppy-dog eyes. “Please, pretty please? For our dear, beloved Seeker? And if not for her, for the satisfaction you and I will receive from this?”

Varric shook his head, hands on his hips. “And here I thought a hole in the sky was the weirdest shit that could happen. So. You want me to finish writing the latest issue of my worst serial. For Cassandra. You’re not soft on her, are you?”

Jasper grinned. “Not until she can grow a magnificent mustache and an even more magnificent dick.”

“Did not need that mental image, Fluffy,” Varric said, waving a hand in front of his head as if expelling a thought bubble. “This is such a terrible idea. I have to do it. On one condition. I get to be there when you give her the book.”

“Deal.”

“I’ll get to work then,” Varric said, grinning mischievously. “You know, the fact that the book is terrible just makes it more worthwhile, somehow. I’ll have it done before we leave for Halamshiral.”

Jasper nodded. “I appreciate this, Varric, you’re a good man.” He saluted him and reached for Dorian’s hand, leaving the dwarf to his work. “This will be great.”

Dorian chuckled, slipping his hand from Jasper’s again. This time Jasper did notice and gave him a weird look. “It’s not you, _amatus_ ,” he told him quickly and quietly, glancing around at the milling nobles, dignitaries, villagers, soldiers. “I just feel like everyone here stares at me, especially when I’m with you, and when we’re publicly...affectionate, they’re like vultures. Gossip is their carrion.”

Jasper rolled his eyes and grabbed Dorian’s hand again, linking their fingers. “And what’s their talk going to do? What harm can their rumors do that they haven’t already done? Everyone knows we’re an item, Dorian, are they gonna start spreading rumors that - gasp - the Inquisitor likes to hold hands with his boyfriend?”

Dorian was secretly quite delighted to hear Jasper refer to him as his boyfriend. And he was right, he knew. Dorian just wasn’t used to having a public relationship. A relationship at all, really. The few men he’d slept with had known the status quo: their interludes were just fun and games. There was no cuddling, no hand-holding, no sweet endearments. All those things seemed to come so naturally to Jasper, once he allowed himself to enter a relationship with Dorian. He was such a loving, sweet, soft person, despite his current reputation as a foul-mouthed hard-ass who had no respect for the rules.

Dorian squeezed his hand. “I like to hold hands with my boyfriend, too, you know.”

Jasper smiled up at Dorian, a soft little smile, a genuine one. Then it slid away as he led Dorian down the steps and through the courtyard. “I suppose I should update you on what’s going on with my...with Clan Lavellan.”

He ran through it quickly for Dorian, told him Josephine was investigating. “To be honest, I’m a little scared. I…” He swallowed. “I do kind of want to meet them.”

“Understandable,” Dorian said. “Maybe we can, though it would probably have to wait until after the ball. I doubt Josie will let you run across the Waking Sea to see your people just yet.”

Jasper pulled at his collar slightly. “I really have no intentions of returning to the Marches, ever. There are still plenty of people up north who want me dead.”

“And that’s different from here, how?” Dorian asked, a single eyebrow raised.

Jasper grinned. “Good point. And I’m sure plenty of folks at the Winter Palace will want me dead, too. But that’s why I have you. To protect me.”

Dorian snorted. “Who’s protecting who, really?”

***  
“What are you working on?” Jasper prodded, looking upside down at the book Dorian was studiously perusing and taking notes from. Dorian hummed quietly and made another note in his book, then sipped from his cup of tea, ignoring Jasper on the edge of the desk. “Dorian,” Jasper chided, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Stop ignoring me, you’ll make my skin break out.”

Dorian looked up from the thick tome and leaned back in his chair, gazing at Jasper’s face with amusement, an eyebrow cocked. “I’ve yet to see a single blemish on you.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Not the point, hot stuff. I need attention. Let me sit on your lap and you can tell me all about your project, or whatever this is. Your research. All the boring little details. I’ll be an utterly captive audience.”

Dorian did not need much convincing. He scooched the chair back enough from the desk so Jasper could sit on his lap, and Jasper sat sideways so his legs dangled off one side of the chair and he could loop an arm around Dorian. Dorian leaned forward to capture Jasper’s lips, but Jasper brought a hand up to stop him, something Dorian _obviously_ was not expecting. The mage blinked at him in utter shock, which just made Jasper’s smirk widen.

“I was serious when I said I wanted to hear about...whatever it is you’re doing,” Jasper told him, cupping Dorian’s face in his hand, caressing his cheek with a calloused thumb.

Dorian huffed a quiet laugh. “Very well. These are the books Josephine was able to procure for me from the Magisterium’s library.” Jasper blinked. “The ones about ancient Tevinter bloodlines? To find out who Corypheus really was, if he was ever really human?”

“Oh, yes, that,” Jasper said, recognition lighting his eyes. “Go on.”

“Well, I think I may have found a connection,” Dorian told him, pointing at the book. “I think I may have traced him to House Amladaris, which still exists today. I wonder what our good spymaster will do with that information?”

Jasper grinned. “You are so smart, _ma vhenan_. That’s what I expect of my big, bad magister.”

This time, he did lean in to kiss Dorian, stealing his breath away. When Dorian pulled back, he remarked, “Still not a magister, my dear.”

Jasper snickered and recaptured Dorian’s lips, but a knock at the door interrupted them. Jasper sighed, opening his eyes slowly. Damn. Of course he would have an interruption now, when he so desperately craved the touch and attention of his lover. Dorian eyed him knowingly.

“Ignore the door, _amatus_ ,” he suggested, hands tightening on Jasper’s hips.

Jasper laughed. “I’m the one supposed to be encouraging shirking one’s duties, Dorian. You’ve got too much honor to do that.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I assure you, I’ve done plenty of shirking in my life.”

Jasper opened his mouth to reply, but the knocking started up again, this time followed by Josephine’s urgent voice. Jasper sighed, belabored, and rose from Dorian’s perfect lap. “Duty calls, my dear.”

Dorian’s hands lingered on Jasper’s body as the elf rose and strode away, down the stairs, to greet Josephine. Dorian heard the ambassador’s voice. “I just want to review some of the finer details and protocols with you, Inquisitor, before we leave tomorrow. Is now a good time?”

Something told Dorian that the answer did not matter; she _would_ be commanding Jasper’s time right now. He heard the door shut behind them as Jasper followed Josephine out, probably back to her office, or maybe for a walk through the gardens. Dorian turned back to his books, but he couldn't focus on the ancient bloodlines and histories, the endless lists of names and the connections and relationships between them. This time in a week, they’d be in Halamshiral. They’d be facing not only dangerous court intrigue, but be tasked with locating and eradicating the agents and assassins of Corypheus.

Did Corypheus’ true name even matter? Would it do them any good to track down his distant family relations? Dorian sighed. He didn’t know, and chances are it would mean nothing, but what else could he do when not in the field fighting side-by-side with Jasper? He wasn’t Jasper; he didn’t get to make big decisions - thank the Maker for that, honestly. But he didn’t have the leadership capability that Jasper had. He was an academic, a scholar. What else was he good for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back to our regularly scheduled shit storm!! we got (half-assed) smut, we got cuddles and loving, we got Jasper in a skirt bc he is our nb king, idk whatever.
> 
> sorry for the half-assed smut scene, but originally there was none in this chapter, and i felt back since it's been over a month since my last update, so i threw in a little sex as a treat. also made it a particularly long chapter.
> 
> next chapter leads up to the Winter Palace!!! Fun times. I don't know if I'll have it next chapter or chapter after that. Just a note: I moved Halamshiral further north because, like, first of all, that makes more sense, but also, plot reasons. thanks. hopefully next update will be soon!


	21. Who The Fuck Wears Amulets Anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst ahead
> 
> i moved Halamshiral north of Val Royeaux for plot purposes.

They left Skyhold for Halamshiral the next day, after days of Josephine flitting about nonstop, utterly frazzled and frenetic. She’d tried to force Jasper to cut his hair again, as it was starting to get longer again, a tad unruly. But he’d missed his long locks. She told him that long hair was no longer fashionable in Orlais for men. That the rage right now was shaved and half-shaved heads. This infuriated Jasper, since he was in no way Orlesian and couldn’t give half a shit about their fads and trends. Besides, Dorian liked his shaggy hair. The argument was not settled, but Josephine seemed to understand that she would not be winning this one. They settled for Jasper keeping it in a high ponytail for the ball, rather than wearing it loose.

Jasper thought the journey through Orlais would calm her, to some extent, but her anxiety just seemed to mount as they moved slowly with their wagons and carts and steeds, steadily north-west.

“This is fine,” she was muttering to herself. “We are making fine time. Our reservations are set in stone. This is fine.”

They were not roughing it, at least, which Dorian was delighted about. Josephine had snared reservations in inns along the way, which meant they did not have as flexible of a schedule, hence Josephine’s fretting. Some days were shorter than others, traveling-wise, depending on the distance between inns. Jasper didn’t mind. Any bandits that thought it was a smart idea to fight an armored, guarded caravan flying the Inquisition’s banner was absolutely delusional, particularly since most of the people in the caravan, not just Cullen’s soldiers, were perfectly dangerous.

On the third slow day, they stopped at an inn in Val Royeaux as the sun was setting. Jasper felt a little nervous, and glanced at Dorian anxiously as they handed their horses off to a couple of eager stableboys. Dorian seemed perfectly at ease. Josephine was directing the boys, along with the footmen, ensuring that their trunks were taken care of properly. It was such a production settling in every night, what with their large traveling party and all their luggage.

Jasper took Dorian’s hand in his and linked their fingers together. “C’mon, let’s go walk around the market square. I want to stretch my legs before dinner.”

Dorian and Jasper set out on the town, Dorian utterly placid and enjoying the sights. He and Jasper stuck out from the crowds of nobles, with their weapons and dusty riding clothes. They made quite the spectacle, an elf and a ‘Vint walking hand in hand, dressed as they were, poking into any shop that caught their fancy. Dorian particularly enjoyed the bookstores, marvelling over manuscripts and novels. Jasper insisted on buying him whatever he wanted, but Dorian kept politely declining, every time.

“You get me gifts, why can’t I get one for you?” Jasper asked irately, more upset than he really wanted to let on. He tried to sound whiny and petulant instead to mask how he really felt about this.

Dorian seemed uncomfortable, but brushed it off. “I prefer your other gifts,” he said with a wink, but Jasper knew he was avoiding the topic.

“C’mon, there’s someone I have to meet with,” Jasper told him gruffly, pulling him toward a small shop front between a cafe and a clothing store. There was a bald man in a golden mask awaiting them, so short that he barely cleared Jasper’s shoulders.

“Inquisitor!” the man greeted eagerly, waving them over. “Good, good, this is exactly what I was hoping.”

Dorian glanced over at Jasper with confusion. “What’s this about?” He studied the Orlesian man. Then comprehension seemed to dawn on him, and Jasper knew he’d met the man before. Probably trying to buy back his amulet. “No. No, absolutely not. Jasper, what game are you playing at?”

Jasper glared at Dorian. “I’m getting you a gift you can’t refuse this time.”

Dorian made an exasperated noise, pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to contain his temper. “I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, least of all _you_. I said I wanted to do this myself.”

Jasper fought the urge to fidget, bristling a little at Dorian’s tone, both of their stupid egos, the mutual pride. The merchant spoke. “Do forgive me, Inquisitor, but when I heard of your... _association_ with Monsieur Pavus, I simply could not resist. You see, it is not simply coin I seek for the amulet, but influence. Influence that _you_ possess, but which the young man does not. Provided, of course, that you desire the amulet for your... _friend_?”

Jasper didn’t like the way he said “association” and “friend.”

“He’s been holding the amulet over me for months,” Dorian grumbled as explanation, folding his arms, face sour. “Refusing to sell it back, no matter how much I offered.”

“You refused to sell Dorian his amulet, just to get me here?” Jasper asked, eyeing the merchant like something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. “Well, I’m here, you twat.”

“I am not attempting to manipulate you, my lord, I just wish for equitable recompense,” the man said, slick as oil, totally ignoring Jasper’s barb. Jasper blinked. Those were some big words that he didn’t quite understand, but he got the gist of it. A favor for a favor. “The League de Celestine is an organization of wealthy noblemen in Orlais. I would join, but I lack the lineage. If someone like you applied pressure, they would admit me. _That_ would be worth the return of the amulet.”

Jasper glanced over to Dorian. He knew Dorian was unhappy, to say the least; he could feel the anger and irritation rolling off him in waves. Still, he wanted his opinion. “What do you think, Dorian?”

Dorian glared at him, jaw clenched. His voice was cold and restrained when he spoke. “Leave the man be. I got myself into this, I can get myself out.”

The merchant quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should accept your friend’s help, monsieur, if you ever want your amulet back.”

“ _Kaffas_!” Dorian snarled, balling his hands into fists at his side. “I know what _you_ think, and he’s _not_ my friend, he’s…” He cut off suddenly, snapping his mouth shut, glancing uneasily at Jasper. Jasper swallowed down the hurt at Dorian’s hesitation and glanced away. Dorian cleared his throat. “Never mind what he is.”

Right. Never mind, of course.

“As you desire,” the merchant said, waving away the matter. “Even so, that is the price, and I shall accept no other.”

Jasper took a step forward, towering over the man. It wasn’t an experience Jasper often had. Jasper was easily far stronger than this slimy old man, and far more intimidating. “Are you sure you want to hold something over me like that, monsieur?” His voice was low and dark, his face stony. “I’m sure my reputation precedes me, no?”

The Orlesian swallowed audibly and eyed the daggers strapped to Jasper’s back, the spikes along his leather, the yellow and purple bruises covering his bare knuckles. Then he glanced back up at Jasper’s eyes, steady and cold even in the bright sun. If the merchant was smart, he was going to make this easy.

“Let’s not be hasty,” the man said, raising his hands, a tremor in his voice. “Of course, I would be delighted to help the Inquisition in any matter I am able to. And I hope you will remember my willingness to help. I have the amulet here, Inquisitor, my lord.”

The man produced the amulet from a satchel he carried. It was carefully wrapped in garnet-colored silk, and the merchant presented it to Jasper. He gestured to Dorian to take it. Dorian looked at him, and Jasper ignored the fiery look in his dark eyes. The anger and annoyance, the hurt and confusion. Dorian took the parcel after a moment, lifting the silk to lay eyes on it. Jasper glanced at it. It was a large pendant wrought in shining bronze, inlaid on it the pattern of what Jasper assumed was House Pavus’ crest. It was strung on a beaded necklace, though it was obviously not meant to be worn. It must’ve weighed ten pounds.

After a long moment studying it, Dorian rewrapped it and tucked it away into his robes, shaking his head. Then he stormed away without another glance at either of them, head lowered. Jasper tsk’d and turned after him, grabbing his arm before Dorian could get too far. Dorian shook him off angrily, his eyes alight with fire.

“I don’t want to be in your debt,” Dorian snarled, anger evident now that they were out of earshot of the merchant. He kept walking away. “I don’t want to be in _anyone’s_ debt.”

“Dorian, how _else_ were you going to get it, hm?” Jasper tried, exasperated, running after Dorian, trying to calm him down and help him see reason.

“I don’t want to discuss it,” he said, holding up a hand to stop Jasper. “Leave it. Please.”

Jasper shook his head, ducking around to get in front of Dorian, ever persistent. “Well, where are you going, then?”

“To get drunk, Inquisitor, surely you’ve heard of it?” Dorian snapped, shoving past Jasper.

“Don’t use my title on me like that,” Jasper growled. “That’s a dick move.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, _my lord_ ,” Dorian mocked. “Just...leave me alone for a while, would you? I want to be alone.”

“Dorian,” Jasper said testily, but Dorian ignored him and kept moving. Jasper didn’t chase after him, just folded his arms and watched Dorian stalk away angrily. He couldn’t believe how ridiculously petty Dorian was being right now. “Dorian!”

Dorian didn’t stop. It was as if he couldn’t even hear Jasper. Jasper scoffed with frustration and stormed off in the opposite direction, back toward the inn where they were all staying. He passed a few other members of the Inquisition out exploring the market in the early evening, but he ignored them, steaming silently.

He headed up to his room, the one he would be sharing with Dorian later that evening, which he was sure would be oodles of fun. Maybe Dorian would try and get a separate room. Jasper wondered if Dorian would even talk to him for the rest of the trip, or at the palace. He rolled his eyes and dug through his bags for the little glass handpipe Dorian had bought him as a little gift - Dorian hadn’t needed a reason to bestow a gift on his lover. Why did Jasper? Half of him wanted to chuck it at the wall, watch it shatter into pieces. But he controlled himself, knowing he would regret it, and instead threw open the window in their room on the second floor, and climbed out onto the windowsill, pipe secure in his pocket and little sachet of weed hanging from his mouth. He pulled himself easily up past the third and fourth storeys and up onto the gabled roof, until he was seated comfortably on the pitch, back against the brick chimney.

The view of Val Royeaux was rather remarkable from here, especially as the sun set over it, painting everything a glittering orange and gold. It looked like such a nice, peaceful city. You wouldn’t think the world was on the precipice of ending. For a moment, he could almost understand how something as frivolous as the empress’ ball could take place amongst such chaos and bloodshed. It was easy to ignore all the ugly parts of the world when you had a view like this, unmarred by the Breach.

He packed a bowl and cradled the pipe in his hand, thumb over the little hole on the side, a lit match in his other hand. He sat there a long time, smoking bowl after bowl until he was baked well and good, not a care in the world. He didn’t care about nobles, or their machinations. He didn’t care about Halamshiral or Empress Celene or the plot against her life. He didn’t care about the ball and all the information Josephine had been drilling into him. He didn’t care about amulets or Dorian. All he wanted was something to eat, and lots of it.

He nearly fell off the roof when Cole crawled up the side of the building beside him, ghostly and silent, appearing quite suddenly. He may be more human, but he still had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people. Jasper’s heart nearly leapt from his chest. “Holy fuck, Cole, don’t scare me like that when I’m high as shit. And a fifty-foot drop to the ground.”

“Sorry,” Cole said unevenly, sitting with his long legs criss-crossed under him. “I brought snacks. You’re hungry.”

Jasper was grateful as Cole set down a shiny silver platter piled high with tiny cakes. “Oh, Maker. I think I love you, Cole.” He stuffed two cakes in his mouth at once. Cole ate one slowly, as if savoring it. Jasper wondered if he could taste anything, if he really _was_ a spirit that had assumed human form. Could spirits taste?

“Like you love Dorian?” Cole asked curiously, eating another cake.

Jasper nearly choked on his fifth little cake, then started giggling. “Er - no, Cole. I love you as a friend. Like how I love Varric and Cassandra and Iron Bull. Dorian is...different.”

“He makes your heart race,” Cole said. “He makes your head ache.”

Jasper snorted. “He excels at that, really.”

“You do the same to him,” Cole said earnestly. “Every time he looks at you, he feels like he could fly if he wanted to. Flying, fretting, fighting, fucking.”

“Don’t curse, Cole,” Jasper admonished gently.

“Sorry,” Cole said quietly. “It’s in his thoughts. He wants to be happy with you. He thinks it might be possible, even if he doesn’t want to give himself false hope. He prays it is.”

Jasper sighed. “I know. Relationships are hard, Cole. And Dorian and I aren’t particularly well-suited to have relationships to begin with. But we want it anyway. Even if it’s stupid and reckless and we’ll both probably end up terribly hurt in the end.”

Cole hummed. “He’s the brightest star in the sky.”

Jasper let out a sigh, staring up at the dusky sky, slowly transforming into night. “That he is.”

Cole was quiet, and Jasper wondered if he had disappeared or not. They sat together, or maybe Jasper sat alone, quietly, watching the city glitter and shine as the sky darkened. There were only a few scatterings of stars visible, with all the excess light in the atmosphere from the city. Jasper kept munching on the cakes until he felt he simply could not fill himself with any more sugar.

He shivered in the cool night air, not dressed warmly enough for the evening. Music drifted from a nearby tavern, a lively jig. Jasper nodded his head to the beat, wishing that he could’ve become a bard. Fighting and singing. Would’ve been fun. He probably wouldn’t be in this shit mess now. He probably would've had a mostly normal life, really, if the Bards had rescued him from that brothel instead of Augustus and the Buzzards.

The stars moved across the sky as the night waned on. Jasper blinked, and nearly let his eyes stay closed. But he couldn’t fall asleep on the roof. He wobbled into a standing position on the steep roof, then slid down the shingles in a controlled sort of way. He grabbed the lip of the gutters and lowered himself down to the grooved stones of the exterior wall, climbing slowly downward to his second-floor room. He balanced on the windowsill and cursed; it had been closed. Dorian must be back.

Jasper perched on the edge of the sill, holding onto a stone for balance. He rapped on the window sharply, hoping that even in Dorian’s predictable drunken haze that he’d hear him. Jasper winced as he heard a thud, something falling to the ground, followed by a sharp curse in Tevene. Jasper muffled a snort of amusement as the stumbling, disheveled form of Dorian appeared in the window, peering out with bewilderment. Dorian blinked, then opened the windows inward, letting Jasper swing in like an acrobat.

“Where the hell have you just come from?” Dorian asked in confusion. Jasper wrinkled his nose; he could smell the liquor on him. “Are we not using the doors anymore?”

“The roof,” Jasper said nonchalantly, dusting himself off. “I was enjoying the view. Are you okay?”

Dorian pursed his lips then, and Jasper wondered just how drunk he was. He’d found his way back to his room all in one piece and fully dressed, so he couldn’t be too shit-faced.

Jasper reached for Dorian, wanting to feel the man’s embrace enveloping him entirely, even if he did reek. Dorian hesitated, looking resentful, but Jasper kept his arms open, drooping slightly, like a beggar. He looked so pathetic. Dorian sighed and pulled Jasper close to him, and Jasper slid one hand into his hair. Dorian smelled like the floor of the tavern, but Jasper was okay with it.

“Are you still mad at me?” Jasper asked, pulling at the buckles on Dorian’s robes.

“Yes,” Dorian answered tartly, pulling Jasper’s hands away. “You meddled in _my_ business, Jasper, even after I told you I didn’t want you involved. I explained the situation to you, and you _still_ went ahead and involved yourself, and went behind my back to do it. So yes, I’m still furious with you.”

Jasper wilted under Dorian’s withering glare. “I just - we talked about this, breaking down each other’s walls. Remember? On the way back from the Exalted Plains?”

Dorian hesitated, mouth open. Then he nodded. “Yes, I do remember that. You were covered in rabbit blood, as I remember.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I just want you to let me in, Dorian. You seem so aloof most of the time. I always feel you pulling away from me, especially when we’re around other people. I want to break down your walls.”

Dorian sighed. “I know that, Jasper. But not through doing things like this for me. Now I’m indebted to you.”

Jasper shook his head insistently. Is that what was bugging Dorian out about this? “No, I didn’t do this for a favor. I did it because I - care about you.” Jasper nearly choked, the word _love_ on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back at the last second, though, and he didn’t think Dorian had noticed.

“That’s the problem,” Dorian told him, pulling his arms from Jasper and walking away, looking out the window. “Someone intelligent would cozy up to the Inquisitor if they could. It would be foolish not to. He could open doors, get you whatever you want, shower you with gifts and power.” He took a deep breath, a look of pain on his face. “That’s what they’ll say. That I’m the magister who’s using you.”

“Go ahead and use me, then, Dorian,” Jasper said, taking a step closer to Dorian, smirking, trying to shift the topic. “Or are you all talk?”

Dorian sighed, frustrated, and turned away from Jasper, walking away. He ran both hands through his hair. “Stop trying to change the topic, Jasper. Stop...using your body to brush off _my_ feelings and _my_ problems.”

Jasper scoffed, folding his arms. “You never seemed to mind it before. In fact, I seem to recall you trying to convince me to skip meetings so I could suck your dick. Now that you’ve got some new and mysterious paramour sending you gifts all the time, you don’t want me? Have I served my purpose, and now you’ll toss me aside like everyone else in my life?”

Jasper took a deep breath past the lump that formed in his throat. He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t intended for all those things to come up like bile, burning his throat. He hadn’t wanted his insecurities to be broadcasted like that, not like _this_. His past was behind him. At least, he tried to convince himself of that. He wasn’t...he wasn’t a prostitute anymore, and Dorian was nothing like his former clients. He knew that, but his mind liked to try and point out all the similarities. Tevinter. Rich. Troublesome. He had to believe that Dorian wasn’t just interested in using Jasper for sex and power - after all, that’s exactly why he hadn’t wanted Jasper to get the amulet for him, right? Because he didn’t want people thinking that’s all they were? But as logical as that was, Jasper couldn’t separate those ideas. He couldn’t let go of the trauma. He couldn’t box it away and move on. This, right here, was exactly why he had never tried to have another relationship after Augustus.

Jasper turned away quickly, fingers rubbing his temples as he tried to blink away the sting of tears. Maker fucking dammit. He’d wanted to just...stop fighting, and get back to their usual flippant, erotic relationship. He hated this vulnerability. He hated Dorian seeing him like this, so weak.

“Is that what this is about?” Dorian snapped. “Those fucking gifts? You ignored my request and went against my wishes - why? To outdo some Maker-damned secret admirer that I have _no_ interest in? To prove something, something - _what_? What exactly are you trying to prove, Jasper, other than that you’re a jackass who doesn’t respect me?”

“Fuck you, Dorian!” Jasper yelled, spinning around. He felt tense all over, fight or flight mode taking over, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I tried to do something nice for you because you’re _always_ doing things for me! _Always_ , even though you don’t have the influence or the money that I do. It makes me feel so fucking shitty to have every attempt at showering you with gifts rebuffed and ignored and belittled, but then you’ll go ahead and accept gifts from random fucking pieces of shit! People you don’t even know!”

“So you’re just jealous, is that it?” Dorian countered, volume rising with Jasper’s. They stood facing each other now, shouting across the small room. “Does it bother you that much that someone else might show me attention? I have to deal with people drooling and fawning over you all day long! And you eat it up! You _encourage_ them! You flirt and you preen, and you seem entirely oblivious to my feelings and the hurt you cause me.”

“That’s different,” Jasper defended, glancing away from Dorian’s shining eyes, the hurt in them.

“How?” Dorian hissed. “How is it any different than the way Augustus treated _you_?”

It felt like Dorian had just kicked him in the gut. His jaw hit the floor and he felt the breath _whoosh_ out of his lungs. He stared at Dorian, watching the emotions flit across Dorian’s face - vindication, then regret and concern. Jasper barely knew what his body was doing as he drew back his arm and slapped Dorian across the face, open-palm. Dorian staggered back a few steps, clutching his red cheek as he straightened.

“Jasper, I’m sorry, please don’t - “ Dorian started, reaching for Jasper.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Jasper growled, stepping away from Dorian’s outstretched hand. He turned and threw the door open, storming out into the corridor and down the stairs as tears blurred his vision. He blinked them away angrily and ran through the crowded main floor of the inn, which was filled with patrons having dinner and enjoying a drink. Some of them whispered and stared at him as he burst through the door and out into the warm evening. He heard someone shout his name - Dorian, maybe, or another member of their entourage - but kept running. He didn’t stop until he was well lost in the twisting streets and narrow alleys of the city, the moonlight above his only light to see by.

He found a shady-looking pub on a street he’d never been down and shouldered the door open. It was dark and dank on the inside, filled with all sorts of unsavory types. Jasper strode across the rushes covering the floor, his heart still hammering from everything, and leaned against the bar with both hands. The bearded bartender gave him a scrutinizing look.

“I’ll take whatever the strongest shit you have is,” Jasper told him breathlessly, still panting from his flight. He plunked down a few gold coins. They glinted in the dim light as the bartender swept them off the counter and into his hand, then slid them into his pockets.

The bartender raised a single eyebrow, but just reached below the bar and uncorked some unlabeled bottle, pouring three inches of it into a chipped and smudged glass. Jasper would’ve drank out of a shoe at this point. He grabbed the glass and threw his head back, chugging it in a couple of swallows. He slammed the glass back down on the bar, the burning of the drink leaving him unfazed.

“Another,” Jasper demanded, taking a seat on one of the worn wooden stools. He rested his elbows on the bar, hunching forward.

He went through this drink more slowly, ignoring the stares he was getting from other patrons and the bartender. He could guess they weren’t used to seeing elves like him. Confident, independent, in possession of money, dressed in good-quality clothes. He could only imagine their reactions if he had shown up in his armor and with his weapons. That maybe would’ve given away his identity, though, so perhaps it was better like this.

Halfway through his drink, someone plunked down on the stool directly beside him, despite the near-empty bar. Jasper raised his eyebrows at his drink, but said nothing, and did not look over at whoever was leaning on the bar, obviously staring at him. The silence stretched for a few moments before the man spoke, though he directed his words at the bartender, not Jasper.

“Since when do you serve fucking knife-ears here, Serge?” the man asked loudly, his voice gravelly.

Jasper ignored him and drained the rest of his drink. Andraste’s ass, all he wanted was to drown his emotions and problems in as much liquor as he could buy. He didn’t want to deal with harassment from some drunk and belligerent dipshit. Couldn’t he ever just have a quiet night to get blackout drunk?

“His coin is just as good as yours, Hector,” the bartender replied quietly. His voice was softer than Jasper would have predicted, at odds with his rough, bearded appearance.

Hector spat on the floor beside Jasper. “Like shit it is. This slimy bugger probably pickpocketed it from some good, hardworking Orlesian like you and me. That’s all his kind do - they steal and lie. Don’t know why the empress lets them pollute our cities. She ought to eradicate them like the pestilence they are!”

The silence after that was full of tension so thick, you could practically feel it. Jasper clenched his fist around his empty glass, still studying the shoddy crystal as if he couldn’t hear a word that this drunk asshole was saying.

“Oi, I’m talking about you!” Hector roared at Jasper, shoving him in the shoulder. “Are you too stupid to understand that, you bloody fucking knife-ear rat?”

And like that, Jasper snapped. He slammed his glass into the side of this man’s head, the glass shattering on impact, some of it imbedding into his sweat-slicked, pasty skin. The man yowled and staggered back, shocked, obviously. Jasper thought that maybe that would be it - enough to show this man that he wasn't a _typical_ “knife-ear.” But no. Hector socked Jasper in the eye, sending him reeling, but Jasper recovered quicker than any human could. He grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and punched him squarely in the jaw, then slammed his face into the bar, hard. The Orlesian slumped to the floor and Jasper kicked him in the side over and over, as hands grabbed him around the shoulders and middle and pulled him back. He heard people shouting and cursing, and became vaguely aware that the man on the floor was sobbing.

Jasper shook off the hands angrily, but then someone grabbed him quite firmly by the bicep. Jasper was about to go off and them too, but when he looked up at who it was, the words shriveled up in his mouth. He was met with the disapproving, disgusted glare of two city guards, towering over him. They shoved him against the wall of the bar, face first, and Jasper gasped, more from shock than pain. They clapped irons around his wrists, locking them behind his back. Where had these fuckers even come from?

“For fuck’s sake,” Jasper cursed as he was escorted roughly from the dingey building.

He yelped as one of the guards hit him over the head. “Stop talking,” one of them said curtly.

Jasper rolled his eyes, but didn’t put up any resistance as they led him away. He figured that Josie could smooth over a drunken brawl with a racist asshole pretty easily, but a fight against two city guards? Not so much. He had no doubt that it would affect their reception at the Winter Palace, and they really needed to get into the ball, if they wanted to protect the world from Corypheus’ evil plots.

The jailhouse was only a few streets away, tucked beside the guardhouse and its barracks. Jasper had no doubt their accommodations were nicer, though probably not by much. At least Jasper was still drunk enough that he didn’t think he’d care. They roughly tossed him into one of the empty cells, which had nothing but rushes covering the floor and a dirty bucket. Not even a cot. Jasper leaned against the opposite wall, watching the guards lock his cell. Shit. He didn’t even have his lockpicks.

Jasper slid down to sit on the floor, holding his head in his hands. He felt everything crashing into him at once, overwhelming him, and the fact that he was drunk didn’t really help either. He felt the tears coming and grit his teeth against them, crying silently. How did he manage, after all this time, to still land himself in such shitty situations?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) angst
> 
> protip: don't bring up ur partner's past trauma during a fight. no bueno.
> 
> winter palace next chapter!!! yeeyee


	22. Orlesians Can Go Fuck Themselves

The clanging of the cell door opening woke Jasper the next morning. His brain felt fuzzy and pounded viciously as he stirred, opening his eyes. He had to blink several times before things stopped swimming and swirling and he could make sense of what he was seeing. He lurched to his feet uneasily, body sore, and overbalanced, nearly landing back on his ass. Someone was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a purple shadow backlit by a lantern in the corridor beyond. Jasper braced himself against the wall with a bruised hand and would not meet the cold, unreadable eyes of Leliana.

She said nothing as the city guard behind her disappeared. She just nodded and turned about on her heel and led the way out. He followed behind her meekly, blinking owlishly in the early morning sunlight once they were out on the street. Leliana said nothing as they strode back to the inn, Jasper skulking with his head lowered. The shame of his stupid escapade last night washed over him in waves with every step that brough them closer to their comrades.

Their entourage was waiting outside the inn, near the stables. All their wagons were packed, every horse was saddled and ready. Maker, what they all must think of him right now. He wondered if Dorian had filled them in on their fight last night, it being the reason he’d run off and ended in this stupid situation. He didn’t want any of them to see him as vulnerable as Dorian had. He kept his head up, the way Josephine had coached him on for the ball, and let a sardonic, careless smirk cross his lips, even if it was hollow. He could feel the tension ebb away from everyone - except Dorian, whom he refused to look at, though he couldn’t help but be aware of him always.

“All right, Fluffy?” Varric asked, clapping him on the back. “You had us worried there.”

Jasper’s grin widened. “Don’t get mushy on me now, Varric. Have I _ever_ been anything less than spectacular?”

“Sweet Maker, what happened to your eye?” Cullen asked, gesturing at Jasper’s face, a look of concern mixed with amusement on his face. Honestly, Jasper didn’t know. He touched the skin around his eye gingerly, wincing at the tenderness. Fuck. He must have gotten a black eye from that stupid shithead at the pub last night. Oh well.

“What, you don’t think it makes me look cute and roguish?” Jasper quipped, striking a pose. “I think I look dashing.”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, at least I came prepared for such an eventuality. We have coverup for that. No one will ever notice.”

***  
They rode onward to Halamshiral, which took two more days, and Jasper spent most of that either high, drunk, or both, which pissed Josephine off to every extreme. But Jasper would rather _not_ deal with his emotions, not yet, at least. Not until _after_ they’d stopped this assassination and thwarted Corypheus’ plan to plunge Orlais into chaos. So for now, he used every tool in his arsenal to bury and compartmentalize his feelings, his self-pity, his regret, his trauma. For now, he would dutifully wear the mask of the charismatic leader.

The Winter Palace was a beautiful feat of architectural magic. The stone and glass it was constructed from seemed to shine in the moonlight in an almost unearthly way, and the immaculate grounds and gardens were the most luxurious Jasper had ever seen. Flowers and plants he couldn’t identify were arranged in such extravagant patterns, providing ample hiding places for canoodlers. Despite his lingering depression and killer hangover that had been tempered with lots of elfroot, Jasper managed to be in awe.

He felt rather fancy-pants, despite it all, arriving with a small honorguard of a dozen Inquisition soldiers leading the way. They marched to the sides of the entryway leading up to the courtyard of the Winter Palace with a practiced choreograph, slamming their fists to their hearts as they parted for Jasper to pass, flanked by Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. The others trailed behind them in a neat line.

A man in flashy, refined armor approached Jasper, face concealed with a gold mask. His bald head glinted in the light of the numerous lanterns around the courtyard, illuminating the outdoors like it was the middle of the day even though it was evening already. Jasper eyed the man and his flashy clothing that still was just this side of militaristic. Duke Gaspard, no doubt. They were here as his guests, since Empress Celene had refused to invite the Inquisition herself, believing they would only upset the delicate balance of Orlais. If she’d cancelled this ball like Josephine had begged in her letters, they wouldn’t have had to be there in the first place. But, of course, Celene probably didn’t believe their portent of the dark future, despite her well-known and shocking belief in the occult. Her cousin Florianne (Gaspard’s sister) had arranged the ball as the stage for the peace talks; cancelling the ball once that had been decided upon would dash any hopes of restoring peace to the Dales, and would paint Celene as weak and afraid.

Maker, Jasper hated nobles. So much. Why did they always have to fuck shit up like this? Who would _want_ to be emperor or empress, anyway?

“Welcome, Inquisitor,” Duke Gaspard greeted them, as if he weren’t at all responsible for any of this nonsense; not _just_ for a civil war, of course, but for the whole ragtag army of dissenters terrorizing the innocent citizens of the Dales. “The rumors coming out of the Western Approach are saying you battled an army of demons. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful emperor of Orlais!”

Jasper frowned. The man had the most irritating and grating accent Jasper had yet heard amongst the Orlesians. He sounded like he had peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Right. Yeah. Which one is that again?”

Gaspard gave a polite chuckle and executed a little bow. “The charming, handsome one, of course, my lord.” Jasper nearly gagged. Was he flirting with him? He must be at least a decade older than Jasper - which wasn’t something that usually fazed Jasper, but he was grasping at any reason to dislike Gaspard. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I’ll help you.”

Jasper blinked as Gaspard sauntered away with a wink and a gesture to follow. Gross. But that was probably the most forthright anyone was going to be with him that night. All this political intrigue and shit, all this “playing the Game,” capital-G. It was so stupid. He would be deciphering hidden messages in everyone’s words and body language all night. Wicked grace played to the death, Josephine had claimed. Jasper did not doubt her.

Jasper followed Gaspard reluctantly up the wide, marvelous, polished marble steps to the entrance hall. The duke stopped and turned to face him again, and Jasper fought the urge to grimace. “My lord, are you prepared to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ball with a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age.”

Jasper glanced back to Josephine, as if she would jump in and finish this conversation for him. He couldn’t be his usual flippant self, he knew that, but he didn’t know how else to _be_. “Oh, I’m sure they will be. Have they ever seen anything more interesting in their entire lives than a heretical elf being escorted into the Winter Palace by the ‘hateful usurper’?”

“You’re a man after my own heart, my lord,” Gaspard laughed. “As a _friend_ , perhaps there is a matter you can undertake this evening. The elven woman Briala - I suspect that she intends to interrupt the negotiations.”

He didn't like the way Gaspard had said "friend," the way the Orlesian merchant had called him and Dorian friends. Jasper narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. Briala was Celene’s elven ambassador and spymaster, and, if the rumors were to be believed, the reason why Celene had not taken a husband despite so many vying for the position. What would _she_ gain from disrupting the negotiations, if she already held the empress’s favor and heart?

Gaspard continued. “My people have found these ‘ambassadors’ of hers all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems to be the least of their crimes.”

“Oh, so since the elves are acting dodgy, they must be up to political sabotage,” Jasper snarked, crossing his arms. “Of course.”

Gaspard frowned, trying to play off his obvious slip-up about elves with claims that Briala had been arrested for crimes against the empire. Jasper wondered if he really _hated_ elves, or if he just couldn’t bring himself to view them as actual intelligent beings. Apparently, those “crimes” were fabricated to cover for a mistake of Celene’s. So supposedly, Briala had motivation to disrupt the peace talks and let chaos reign. Though Jasper couldn’t imagine that an elf would work for an ancient Tevinter magister. There was no way Corypheus would ever give her, a non-mage elf, power, if that was what he had promised his assassin. She was a rogue, however, and had the skills to perform an assassination. She also had intimate knowledge of the palace and all its secrets - its long corridors, hidden rooms, mysterious shadows.

“Be as discreet as possible,” warned Gaspard, eyeing Jasper’s roguish haircut and numerous piercings and the few visible tattoos that peeked above the collar of his suit. “I detest the Game, like you, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains.”

Jasper wanted to stick a knife in this pompous douche-nozzle and remind him that there was no “us”, but Josephine had told him to resist the urge. She had told him to simply take everything in stride, and no answer was better than one that made them look like barbarians. She said if he just gave a smug half-smirk with just the right tilt of his head, they would think he was more sophisticated than he let on, even if it was just due to his lack of experience with the Game. Lack of experience, and lack of care.

“We’re keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said with a sudden change in tone, suddenly sounding cheery as he offered Jasper his gloved hand. “Shall we?”

***  
If Jasper overheard one more stuck-up noble refer to him as a “savage” _one more time_ , he might fucking lose it. As it was, every time a noble barked at an elven servant or referred to them as “knife-ears,” his scowl grew deeper and deeper. It took all his willpower not to rough up the offending nobles, even just a little, just for shits and giggles, just to show them how powerless _they_ really were.

The others seemed to be enjoying themselves, except Cullen, who was being groped by a dowager twice his age, and Leliana, who was keenly doing her job as spymaster, all the while smiling and chatting politely. A true viper in the grass. She warned Jasper of Celene’s supposed “occult advisor” who had somehow charmed her way into the court. An apostate that Leliana had history with, which was fascinating to Jasper. Not that the term “apostate” carried much weight anymore, since all mages were technically apostates since the Circles had fallen, but there was something bizarre about Leliana revealing parts of her past.

“Both our leads point toward the guest wing,” Leliana told Jasper as they circled the platform overlooking the dance floor below, munching on some tiny cakes as lovely, lilting music muffled their conversation from prying ears. “Be careful.”

Jasper grinned at her rakishly. “Am I ever anything but careful?”

Her smile was slight, her clear blue eyes roving over the guests around them as if any one of them could be an assassin lying in wait. Or maybe she was looking for her Inquisition spies, making sure they were where they were most useful. “Don’t get caught, is what I mean, Inquisitor. Or all our actions will have been for naught.”

With that enthusiastic and uplifting comment, Jasper wandered off, downing a flute of champagne that he snatched off a tray being held aloft by a passing elf. A cute one, with wide, pretty eyes and rather plush lips. He winked at them and smirked out of habit, but reigned himself in, thinking of Dorian. The thought brought with it a flash of pain and regret. They hadn’t talked since their argument, which was probably for the better, after all, since it would probably just lead to more fighting, which Jasper didn’t need right now. Jasper grabbed another flute of champagne and downed it in one gulp, too, wondering if maybe they just weren’t compatible after all.

Speaking of Dorian...He’d yet to see the ‘Vint here at the ball, but he knew he was around somewhere. Jasper had only seen Dorian briefly in the transportation between their rented chateau and the palace, but he had looked absolutely dashing in the matching uniform they all wore. It made Jasper burn with longing, which in turn caused _more_ pain and regret to flare up. Dorian made that suit look _good_. He made it look _fashionable_. Maker’s tits, he pulled it off better than even tall, blond, muscular Cullen did.

The elven servants seemed to be particularly avoiding Jasper as he wandered through the guest wing, slipping tiny cakes into his mouth as he went - except to warn him in hushed tones not to enter the servants’ wing. He eyed a passing tray of champagne with longing. Josephine had forced him to promise up and down that he would have only one glass of champagne, at least until they caught the assassin and guaranteed a stable throne. He’d already had two, which honestly made him feel a little guilty, as he so hated to disappoint Josie. But he had no intentions of missing out on all the expensive alcohol, so he was determined to sort this mess out, and fast. All the sooner to get shit-faced and stop thinking about _him_.

Jasper was heading into the gardens when he was accosted by three women, all identically dressed and of similar figures. For all he knew, they were triplets, as he couldn’t discern their features beneath their lacey silver masks. They claimed to have a message for him from Empress Celene.

“How can I be sure this message comes from Her Majesty?” Jasper challenged, sizing them up.

“We three wear the masks of House Valmont,” one of them explained.

“They signify that we are public faces of the empress,” another picked up, which Jasper found funny, considering their faces were concealed.

The third concluded, “They are also extremely fashionable,” to which the other two nodded emphatically, as if this were the most important tidbit of their introduction.

Jasper held in a sigh. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the empress got to say that she couldn’t say to me when I was introduced to her five minutes ago?”

“Empress Celene is eager to help the Herald of Andraste in his holy endeavor,” one of the three ladies explained.

“She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated,” another continued, adjusting her gloves.

Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose. More errands. First Gaspard wanted Jasper to take care of his dirty work, now Celene wanted in on the free labor, too. Not to mention the sleuthing he was supposed to be getting up to so he could stop the assassin. “How...generous of her.”

“The empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is our best hope for peace in these difficult times,” the third woman asserted.

“She looks forward to cementing a formal alliance,” one of the others intoned. Jasper wondered how anybody told them apart from each other, and how each knew when to say her piece.

“As soon as Gaspard is out of the way,” the other clarified.

“But we have taken enough of your time.”

The three ladies curtsied as one while replying unanimously, “Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor.” They dissolved into the crowds of nobles as if they’d never existed. Public faces of House Valmont, sure. But Jasper knew rogues when he saw them. They were spies. Not assassins, though, at least.

Jasper continued into the garden, which was heavily perfumed with the cloying aroma of the blooming flowers covering every available surface. Jasper rolled his eyes at the opulent displays that met him at every corner, but a frown crept on his face as he saw Dorian standing off to the side, near a wall, the other partygoers giving him a wide berth. No one approached or talked to him. Dorian didn’t seem to mind; he was too interested in studying the bottom of his glass of champagne. Jasper felt something gnawing at his heart; the only thing that he had looked forward to about this whole night in the past weeks had been being able to scandalize everyone by wooing Dorian in public. Now, he couldn’t even consider approaching him. At least Dorian looked just as miserable as he felt.

Then, as if he could feel Jasper’s eyes burning a hole in him, Dorian lifted his head and met his eyes across the garden. Jasper felt a lump rise in his throat as desire and anger battled in him. He looked away quickly and tried to focus on the task at hand. So he settled for snooping through the off-limits guest wing.

Jasper dropped by Leliana again to update her after his snooping. “I’ve investigated a whole lot of shit I probably was not meant to ever see,” he told her, shaking his head with distaste. “Found a lot of blood. Some info you might find interesting. All signs point to the servants’ quarters. I just haven’t got the slightest clue how to sneak in. It’s locked. It’s _very_ well-locked.” His meaning was plain.

Leliana nodded. “Keep looking. I’ll try to figure something out. Now go mingle. Go chat with the dowager, she’s been eyeing you all night. Says she’s got ten granddaughters, each one lovelier than the last, and all of them single.”

Jasper rolled his eyes and Leliana giggled. “You can bet your bippy I won’t be making any political alliances through marriage tonight. I’ll dress up in a stiff uniform, I’ll fight my way through the Fade, I’ll stay dry all night if I must, but my love for the Inquisition will only go so far, my dear.”

“Wouldn’t want Dorian to get jealous,” Leliana remarked. Jasper frowned and ran a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, mussing the curls. She must’ve known about their fight, obviously. So what was that comment supposed to mean?

“Whatever, I’m going to try to break into the servants’ quarters,” Jasper told her gruffly. “Wish me luck.” He winked and sauntered off, trying to regain his careful composure, heading into another adjoining hall. He slowed as a woman approached him down a set of stairs, her pale skin practically glowing, framed by inky black hair and a dark dress. Her yellow eyes seemed to shine, much like a cat’s. A huge and intricate silver necklace glittered at her throat.

“The leader of the new Inquisition,” she said, as if she’d been witness to the first Inquisition, hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. Her tone sounded _just_ this side of mocking. “Fabled herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself.”

The woman stopped at the foot of the stairs, hands on her wide hips as she surveyed Jasper, who was rather struck dumb by the woman. She was so _not_ Orlesian, despite her poofy, lacey dress with the low hips and off-the-shoulder plunging neckline. Her hair was worn in a simple updo, her fringe drooping across her eyes _just so_ , not at all in the Orlesian fashion of ridiculous hairstyles. No mask, either, just dark makeup - also not Orlesian. The current fashion called for light colors, even in winter, an attempt at enhancing natural beauty.

“What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder?” the mysterious woman asked, bizarre amber eyes roving up and down him as if she could see straight to his soul. “Do even _you_ know?”

Jasper folded his arms and stared straight back at her, refusing to be cowed by her cocky and esoteric confidence. “I try not to think too hard about these things. Hurts my head. Courtly intrigues, and all that.”

The woman’s dark burgundy lips quirked up slightly in a smirk. “Such intrigues obscure much, but not all. I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.” Ah, so this was the occult advisor that Leliana had known. She walked past Jasper, nodding for him to follow her, and the guests of court seemed to part before her. Most likely, they were scared to be turned into a toad or a newt. Jasper, of course, had heard stories of Morrigan. Witch of the Wilds, companion to the Hero of Ferelden - which was how Leliana had known her, of course.

“You have been _very_ busy this evening,” the witch remarked, plucking a flute of champagne from a passing servant. Jasper resisted the urge to follow her example. “Hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?”

Jasper eyed her, annoyed at the evasiveness to her words. He hated these fucking riddles. But he could be just as evasive, if he wanted to. “I don’t know. Do we?”

Morrigan chuckled. “You are being coy.” Like he was the only one.

“I’m being careful,” he returned stonily, face impassive like he really was playing wicked grace. For the first time this evening, Jasper truly felt that he was in the presence of someone dangerous.

“Not unwise, here of all places,” Morrigan allowed, nodding her head. “Allow me to speak first, then. Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter.” Of fucking course. Jasper couldn’t entirely erase his distaste for the country, much as he may care for one of its citizens. However rocky their current relationship might be. “So I offer you this, Inquisitor. A key found on the Tevinter’s body.”

She used her voluminous skirts as cover for passing a small, iron key into Jasper’s gloved hand. He slid it into his pockets with practiced ease.

“Where it leads, I cannot say,” Morrigan continued, looking out over the dance floor below, watching couples twirling around in swirls of color. “Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

Jasper watched her watching the carefree dancers. He tapped the key in his pocket and nodded. “Thank you. I think.”

“Proceed with caution, Inquisitor,” Morrigan warned. “Enemies abound, and not all of them are aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting.”

Jasper frowned at her morbidness as he left the ballroom behind, trying his best to stick to the shadows as he made his way to the servants’ quarters. He had an inkling this key may fit to the locked door he’d encountered earlier, a door that led within the servants’ quarters. That seemed to be the one place that the elves had been avoiding, despite the fact that it was technically their abode.

The key fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, i know, i know. and Jasper and Dorian's drama still ain't resolved. patience. next chapter will be a long one!!
> 
> also hi i'm working on a coffee shop au lmaoooo


	23. The Fucking Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied this chapter is not long; i decided to cut it in half. sorry

Leliana’s spies had stashed his weapons and armor in a small, unused chamber filled with dusty paintings and moth-eaten drop cloths that covered various odd objects of furniture. After giving the signal, Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian rendezvoused there, where they all hastily changed clothes and claimed their weapons. Jasper felt Dorian’s eyes on him as he carefully stepped out of his nice trousers and hung them in a dust-free and empty wardrobe. (Once again, courtesy of Leliana’s forethought.) He was prudent not to accidentally make eye contact with Dorian again as he changed. He didn’t know what he would see in Dorian’s eyes, and he didn’t want to know, either.

The locked door led into the kitchens and larder, which were dark and empty of life. The stench of fresh blood and other bodily fluids was overwhelming. Jasper shook his head at the carnage: bodies of cooks and scullery maids littered the floor in pools of blood and gore that soaked into the sacks of flour and potatoes lining the walls. Their eyes stared vacantly. Not a single one of them was armed. It was an absolute slaughterhouse.

“What kind of fucking douchebag stops to kill an innocent cook?” Jasper said savagely, running a hand through his hair as he looked around at all this senseless bloodshed. Anger thrummed through his veins, but he had to get a hold of himself. He had to focus on the task at hand.

Dorian sighed sadly. “They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Jasper shrugged off Dorian’s comment and took a deep breath through his mouth, still refusing to really acknowledge the mage. “Come on. We need to keep moving if we’re going to stop this assassin.”

They continued into the outdoors courtyard of the servants’ quarters, following a spotty trail of blood. Sprawled on the grass, they found the body of a man dressed in very fine clothing, face covered with an ornate mask. Not a servant, that was certain.

Jasper crouched down beside him, eyeing his pale-as-death skin and listlessly staring eyes that reflected the full moon above them. “Wonder what he was doing in the servants’ quarters, hm? Rutting some pretty serving girl, maybe? Bet he wasn’t counting on his evening ending so unhappily.”

“He’s wearing the clothes of the Heralds Emissary,” Cassandra pointed out. “Curious indeed to find him here.”

Jasper turned the body over and found a dagger embedded upward beneath his ribcage. A very careful and precise murder. No hesitation, no mistakes. It didn’t even seem that the man had seen his attacker coming, and yet he’d been posed to lay on his back, when logically he would’ve fallen forward, right? If stabbed from behind? Peculiar indeed. Jasper eyed the silver dagger without touching it. He squinted at the design on the pommel. “Is that...Gaspard’s family crest on the hilt?”

Varric turned his head to the side to examine it. “Well, it would appear so, wouldn’t it?”

“Time to have a word with the duke,” Jasper said, straightening up. He was leading them away from the corpse when a scream tore through the air. Jasper whirled around, daggers at the ready, shocked to see an elf running pell-mell through the courtyard with terror in their wide eyes. Jasper had barely taken a step forward when a figure dressed in white seemingly appeared from thin air and slashed deeply into the elf’s back, silencing the elf as they fell. Blood spurted everywhere, but the attacking figure remained pristine.

A group of soldiers were chasing after the figure in white. The figure threw down a pellet of some sort, which exploded and released a cloud of smoke. In it, they disappeared, nowhere to be seen as the smoke dissipated. Jasper looked around as he and Varric moved back-to-back, Cassandra and Dorian doing the same. The rogue could be anywhere right now. Jasper looked up and saw the white-clad figure look down on them from a balcony above, then turn and walk away with utter nonchalance. If they weren’t wearing a mask, Jasper was sure they would’ve been smirking smugly. Jasper gritted his teeth in annoyance.

The soldiers were Venatori, and if they couldn’t kill the figure in white, whoever that was, they would kill the Inquisition agents just as well. So these were obviously two factions not working together. Either way, Jasper had been waiting for an opportunity to let out all the pent-up energy and frustration that had built up over the course of the evening and the last few days, and this was precisely what he needed. He sliced through them mercilessly with Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric at his side. No one said anything about his ferocity, but he knew Varric was eyeing him with concern.

“Nobles,” Jasper spat. “Bad for my health. Bad for the Venatoris’ health, too, evidently.”

“Was that person who killed the elf...dressed like a jester?” Varric asked, changing the topic with ease. “Or is it just my overactive imagination?”

Jasper sighed. “No, I think you’re right. Andraste’s ass. Of course the Orlesian assassins are dressed like fucking jesters.”

“Harlequin, I think, is actually the more accurate term,” Dorian corrected. Jasper glared at him, momentarily forgetting to ignore him. Dorian snorted softly. “What? Over twenty years of the finest Circle education that gold can buy shall not go to waste, my darling. The diamond patterns on their outfit are typical of a harlequin’s.”

Jasper turned away stonily, as if Dorian hadn’t talked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Varric and Cass share a look, and he knew Dorian no doubt felt hurt by his pettiness, but really, how else was he supposed to react? There was this...ugly tension between them, and it wasn’t like they had the time to talk things through, nor could they just pretend it had never happened, even if Dorian seemed perfectly content to do so. Just because Dorian called Jasper “my darling” didn’t mean things would just be smoothed over and Jasper would hop right back on his dick again. For the first time in his life, Jasper wished everyone could just act professionally. It would make this easier.

They continued through the halls of the servants’ quarters, slaughtering numerous Venatori along the way. They were _everywhere_. Like bacteria. Like fleas. How in the world had they all gotten in? Who was their contact? It had to be someone who could move through the palace with ease. It could be someone like Briala, like Gaspard claimed, but would she really allow her people to be cut down in the process? She was the ambassador for the elves, after all. Perhaps she cared less about them than they were led to believe.

Or perhaps the Venatori had allies elsewhere. Gaspard could move just as easily through the palace. As could a number of others. Morrigan was not free of suspicion either, not yet, even if she had been the most forthcoming and cooperative of the bunch.

Jasper was wiping his blade clean as a Venatori marksman ran around the corner toward them, but the poor bastard barely made it a few steps before a dagger seemed to blossom from the center of the back of his head. Blood dripped to the floor as he collapsed forward, the blade poking up like a perverse flower.

A woman followed the blade a few moments later, her steps easy and assured. An elven woman, wearing rather simple but good quality garb. Her face was masked and her hair was bound tightly and covered. She seemed unconcerned by the four heavily-armed people before her, roaming the restricted parts of the palace.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she greeted with disdain, her Orlesian accent _thick_. Jasper eyed her. “Inquisitor Lavellan. Slumming it in the servants’ quarters with the rest of your people for once?”

“Oh, get fucked,” Jasper spat, making a face. “You don’t fucking know me.”

The woman smiled sardonically, as if amused by Jasper’s outburst. Then she affected a little bow, never breaking eye contact with Jasper. “We haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we? I am Ambassador Briala.”

“Oh, fancy title, huh?” Jasper said, crossing his arms. He wasn’t surprised to find out that this confident, skilled elven woman was the ambassador after all. Maybe she did know something about him. “I admit that ‘Inquisitor’ rather carries more weight, though.”

“My title matters not,” she said stiffly. Orlesian pride. “Diplomacy truly lies in who can throw the fastest dagger.”

Jasper eyed the dagger sticking up from the back of the skull of the corpse on the floor. He could’ve done better. “Sure.”

“You cleaned this place out,” Briala said with a nod of approval. “It will take months to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down here to save or avenge my missing people, but you’ve beaten me to it.” She led Jasper out onto a balcony. “So...the heralds’ emissary in the courtyard...that is not your doing, I hope?”

“The poor bastard was dead when I arrived,” Jasper told her, not trusting her an inch further than he could throw her.

“I expected as much,” she said with another nod. “You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but I doubt you are doing his dirty work.” She’d noticed the crest on the dagger, then. Of course. “I knew he was smuggling in chevaliers, but killing a council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight.”

Jasper eyed Briala with suspicion. She seemed rather certain of that, and the anger and disgust in her voice _sounded_ genuine. He couldn’t tell if it was because she genuinely prioritized Celene’s safety, or if she was simply a particularly skilled actress hiding her true intentions, if she were the assassin. Or maybe she was just one hell of a patriot.

“Gaspard did not appear desperate,” Jasper told her. “He seemed rather easygoing for a man plotting high treason.”

“Do not be fooled by his outer appearance,” Briala warned. “His smile is just as much a mask as the tacky gold one he wears.”

“Oh, I _am_ aware that no one in this damned palace is trustworthy, outside of my own people,” Jasper seethed.

Briala eyed him appraisingly as she leaned on the railing of the balcony. The view below would’ve been lovely if not for the bodies and the blood. “I may have misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What would you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? Think about it.”

Jasper grunted noncommittally. “I might.”

Briala’s smirk was so infuriating, and Jasper knew in another situation, he would’ve flirted his way through this, turned the tables so he was the one smirking. But he was too annoyed for that, too mixed-up about his emotions to really think about getting into someone else’s pants. Not to mention that she apparently preferred the company of other women. Or at least one woman. “I know which way the wind is blowing, my dear. I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way? Well...it could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought.”

The woman straightened and easily vaulted over the railing and off the balcony, disappearing into the shadows below. Very dramatic. Very Orlesian.

“We must return to the ball quickly,” Cassandra said, listening to a bell tolling. “Before we are missed.”

Jasper nodded. “I don’t think I can show up covered in bloodstains, unfortunately.”

They raced through the courtyard, avoiding the bodies that were being picked up by Briala’s people. Elves nodded to them as they slid into a closet outside a wing leading to the ballroom, and Jasper stripped down quickly, kicking off his boots and leather trousers as he pulled his shirt off. The others grabbed his clothes for him and swapped them out for his weapons, helping him dress as quickly as possible.

“How do I look?” Jasper asked as he buttoned the last shiny brass button on his dark blue doublet and pulled on his black leather gloves.

It was Cassandra who answered, which rather rattled Jasper. Part of him had been expecting Dorian’s voice, not hers. He tried to suffocate that part of him. “Good enough,” Cassandra said gruffly, nodding. “Go, and we will follow as soon as we can.”

Jasper nodded and strode through the door like he’d never left the party, leaving the others behind to finish changing. The bell had just finished tolling as Jasper entered the ballroom, trying to appear utterly at ease. A woman approached him immediately. She had close-cropped silvery blond hair, and wore a rather plain mask that almost looked like iron. Her skin was so pale that she was nearly translucent. Jasper recognized her; she had been standing beside the empress when introductions had been made. Celene’s cousin, Florianne. Gaspard’s sister.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” she greeted, setting Jasper’s teeth on edge. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party.”

Jasper smothered a sigh. He’d been caught, hadn’t he? “Why am I not surprised that you’re seeking me out now.”

Florianne gave a supercilious half-smirk. “This is Orlais, Inquisitor. Nothing happens by accident. I believe tonight that you and I are both concerned by the actions of a...certain person. Come, dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dancefloor.” She took his hand in hers. Her skin was cold.

“I’m spoken for, actually,” Jasper told her, arching an eyebrow, eyeing their hands. Even if he and Dorian were pissed off at each other...He wasn’t going to lead on someone he wasn’t the least bit interested in.

The duchess laughed softly. “The Tevinter altus, yes? He has nothing to worry about, Inquisitor. This is business, not pleasure.”

Interesting. The cousin of the empress offering to dance with an elf. Just so they could gossip. Jasper wasn’t surprised she knew about Dorian, of course, but he was a little taken aback by how she mentioned him so casually. He followed the woman down into the recessed area that served as the dancefloor. Jasper followed her lead, relying on the few dance lessons Josephine had provided in the weeks leading up to the ball to see him through his.

“You are from the Marches, no?” Florianne asked as she took Jasper’s hand in hers. “What interest has a Marcher elf in our civil war? What do you know of it?”

She sounded innocent enough, but who knew how she might entrap Jasper with her spidery words and carefully crafted questions? Jasper knew he had to be very careful, weigh his words precisely, or everything the Inquisition had worked so hard for could come crumbling down. And Josephine would be very upset with him.

Jasper swallowed. This was just like wicked grace, right? This was just another deal between two gangs. She was just another customer. He was more adept at this than he believed, he had to be. “What do you think I ought to know, Your Grace?”

They stepped forward, hands elevated ridiculously, following a similar couple in front of them, another couple doing the same thing behind them. They flourished their arms in a silly manner and circled each other as they traded precise, aloof words back and forth. What was her game, really? Whose side was she on? Her brother’s? It didn’t seem so, which Jasper found suspicious, since if he became emperor, her life would improve greatly. It was obvious, however, that Florianne did not appreciate the Inquisition being at the ball and poking around the palace. She was no friend of theirs, but neither was anyone else here. Perhaps, though, they could be allies after all.

Shocked nobles were gathering on the overlooking balcony to watch Jasper and Florianne dance. He saw Josephine nodding with approval. Were those tears of pride shining in her eyes?

“You have little time,” Florianne warned before Jasper dipped her low, eyeing her spare cleavage despite himself. “The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes.”

So she firmly believed her brother was willing to hire assassins from Tevinter to kill their cousin. That, in fact, Gaspard was _working for Corypheus_. Why would Florianne not want her brother to be emperor, though? Wouldn’t that benefit her? Her position to the throne would be closer. Was she really such an ardent patriot? Did she really have such familial loyalty that she wouldn’t want to see her cousin dead? Was she aware he was working not just with Tevinter, but with Corypheus? Had she informed Celene? He honestly couldn’t believe it was just because of her delicate sensibilities. He didn’t believe anyone in Orlais had those.

“In the royal wing garden, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries,” Florianne told him. “He knows all Gaspard’s secrets. I’m sure you have your ways of _persuading_ him to be forthcoming.”

They bowed to each other as the song ended. “We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” Jasper said with a smirk as he quickly evacuated the dancefloor, leaving Florianne behind. He couldn’t scrutinize the look on her face, the satisfied half-smirk on her thin, pale lips. Josephine pinned Jasper down as soon as he’d reached the upper level.

“Jasper!” she gushed, beaming. “The court will be talking about this for _months_! We need to take you dancing more often.”

Jasper grimaced. “Hard pass. This was only possible because my training as a rogue requires me to be light on my feet. The number of times I almost stepped on her toes… Be glad I didn’t just cause another war.”

Leliana and Cullen hurried over. “Were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?” Leliana asked in disbelief and amusement.

“More importantly,” Cullen interrupted, “what happened in the servants’ quarters? I heard there was fighting.”

Jasper nodded. “Yes to both, unfortunately.”

“I hope you have good news,” Josephine said, switching gears. “The peace talks are crumbling.”

Jasper sighed. “The attack will happen tonight. There were Venatori in the servants’ quarters. Florianne gave me a lead. She seems to believe Gaspard is the traitor. If he is, he’s terribly sloppy.”

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Josephine sighed, pinching her brow. “She needs the peace talks to succeed. If she flees, it will admit defeat.”

“Then perhaps we should let her die,” Leliana suggested, sounding terribly callous about it, her voice devoid of emotion. Cullen, Josephine, and Jasper all stared in shock.

“I’m sorry, I thought we came her to stop the assassination so Corypheus doesn’t succeed in overtaking Orlais?” Jasper said with exasperation. “Did we decide a new goal in a secret meeting that I missed out on?”

Leliana shook her head, lips pursed. “What Corypheus wants is _chaos_. That can still happen with Celene alive. To foil his plans, the empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

“It doesn’t need to be Celene,” Cullen agreed, nodding. “She’s right. Gaspard might be a better ally for us, were he on the throne.”

Josephine seemed rather godsmacked. It wasn’t easy to shock him. “You realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?”

Leliana nodded, face stony. “Sometimes the best path is _not_ the easiest one.”

“First we need to find out if Gaspard is working with the Venatori or not,” Jasper reminded them, cutting through the conversation. “If he is, he’s definitely not going to be an ally.”

“You’re right,” Cullen said with a sigh.

“You must make a decision,” Leliana insisted. “Even remaining silent is making a choice that will reverberate around the world.”

“We need more proof,” Josephine said. “Gaspard won’t say anything, if he is guilty. And if he’s innocent, he knows nothing.”

“Florianne told me that Gaspard’s mercenary captain is in the royal wing gardens,” Jasper told them. “That he knows about the assassination.”

“She is his cousin,” Cullen reasoned. “She could be working with him. In which case, this would be a trap, Jasper.”

“Or a lead,” Josephine said reasonably. “We won’t know unless we go find out.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “You mean me. _I_ won’t know unless _I_ go find out. Let’s not forget who’s getting covered in blood between dances.”

Josephine blushed, cowed, though Jasper hadn’t really meant to be rude. Not to Josephine. She was right. They needed to find out more, and it was up to him.

“I need access to the royal wing,” Jasper said definitively. “Without that, there’s no moving forward. And our soldiers should be prepared to move in if anything happens. Make sure they’re in position.”

The three of them nodded and headed off in different directions to do what they needed to do. Jasper signaled to his companions that it was time to get themselves into danger again, and they hurriedly changed _back_ into the bloody armor and headed into the royal wing. The guards meant to be watching over it looked terribly familiar, and Jasper realized they were Leliana’s own people, bedecked in Valmont livery.

In the royal wing, they found another harlequin, attempting to kill one of Briala’s spies who was searching through Florianne’s bedroom. Jasper hurried forward, taking the harlequin by surprise, and landed a well-placed kick to the sternum of the harlequin, sending them crashing backward out the window in a shower of shattered glass. He hoped the fall killed the nasty bugger.

Jasper helped the elf to their feet. On the surface, it appeared that Florianne had someone - someone _deadly_ \- watching her apartment to keep out intruders. Rather extreme measures, Jasper thought, if she were innocent like she seemed. Why else would she need a harlequin? But the elf claimed it was a setup by Briala herself, not Florianne’s doing.

“I knew her before she was _ambassador_ ,” the elf spat venomously, making the title sound like a curse. “I should never have trusted her. She was Celene’s _pet_. Sleeping with the woman who purged our alienage. She’ll do anything for a bit of power. She wants to get rid of me, since I know too much.”

Jasper considered. This woman sounded genuine, but again, she could simply be a good actress. If she were honest, then Briala was more cut-throat than he’d thought. All that talk of Jasper “slumming it” with his people, when she was warming the bed of one of the most powerful people in all of Thedas while her people were being slaughtered wholesale. What a load of shit. She was so fucking full of it. As if she really cared about elves more than her own power. Elves were, in general, a close-knit community. They were willing to do things for each other simply based on their racial similarities, particularly the city elves who were less self-sufficient than the Dalish. And she took advantage of that to have a network of spies that she actually cared nothing about, apparently. If she couldn’t stop the elves from being purged in the alienage, then she really was useless to the elves.

“Will you testify to that?” Jasper asked the elven woman as she dusted herself off, seeming totally unfazed from the attack. Just pissed off.

The elven servant/spy nodded, jaw set in a resolute way. “Absolutely. If the Inquisition will protect me, of course.”

Jasper nodded. “Go find Commander Cullen in the ballroom. Can’t miss him. Tall, blond, very handsome, has a crowd of nobles around him all vying for his hand in marriage. He’ll protect you.”

The elf nodded before leaving. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Jasper led the others out of Florianne’s bedroom. “Come on, I think the gardens are this way.”

They followed the hall to a door much larger than the others. Jasper threw it open and walked out - straight into an ambush. A dozen arrows were trained on him and his companions, and before him glowed a rift, a new one, glittering eerily. And standing on the balcony above the rift, Florianne. Of course. The one person they’d barely considered an option as the lead conspirator was the real bad guy. The others could still be helping her, of course, but she’d just tipped her hand. They might not live long enough to find out the truth.

“Finally,” she sighed in exasperation. “You’re such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you’d taken my bait or not.”

“Are you really doing the villain-monologue thing?” Jasper scathed. “The last time an enemy of mine did that, I dropped a mountain on top of him.”

“Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him,” Florianne declared as if Jasper hadn’t spoken. She must have had this whole speech planned and memorized, and it would be against her Orlesian sensibilities to stop the dramatic ranting and just cut to the chase. “I figured I’d do him a favor and remove _another_ annoying brat from the show. Even if you do defeat my soldiers, you’ll never reach Celene in time before I strike.”

“You’re still monologuing,” Jasper pointed out with exasperation, pinching his brow with utter lack of concern. “Did you learn that from Corypheus? It’s rather grating on the nerves.”

The smile slid off her face. “Kill him. Bring me the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for my master.”

Florianne disappeared through a door behind her. The rift sputtered and started spitting out demons. Between the demons and the Venatori and the other soldiers, they were hard-pressed to keep their feet beneath themselves. Even if they weren’t killed, Florianne was right. They’d never make it back in time. There were too many enemies.

Failure was not an option. Jasper _had_ to do something, and fast, or Orlais would be plunged into chaos and the Inquisition would be powerless to stop Corypheus. The rift before them flared up as Jasper squeezed his marked hand tight, and it sucked in the Venatori agents standing too close to it. Jasper raised an eyebrow. That was new. At least it made their job easier. It was about time things started working out well.

Jasper then shut the rift. The Venatori were all dead, leaving only the regular soldiers behind. They all dropped their weapons, practically pissing their pants.

“Andraste’s tits!” one of them squeaked out in a Fereldan accent. “Were those _demons_?”

Jasper rolled his eyes, striding up to the man, who raised his hands to show he was unarmed. Jasper grabbed him by the collar of his gambeson and backed him into the wall. Jasper was none too gentle as he slammed his head into the stone. “Well spotted. Those were, in fact, demons.”

“Maker bless me!” the man hollered, staring down at Jasper with wide, terrified eyes. He seemed more preoccupied with demons than with the very real threat of Jasper. “Demons! How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace? I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill.”

“A bill?” Jasper asked, blinking. He shook the man again, and his head glanced off the stone. “You think this is over a _fucking bill_?”

The man winced and shrugged. “Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t make any sense. The duke wanted to move on the palace tonight. But he didn’t have enough _fancy_ chevaliers. So he hired me and my men. He had to offer us triple our usual pay since we had to come to Orlais. Stinking, poncy cheesemongers.”

Jasper snorted. That was one way to put it. He dropped this man indelicately and turned to the others. “So it would seem that Gaspard and his sister were working together, but she’s obviously decided to cut him out of the picture. Interesting. Gaspard could also be oblivious to Corypheus’ involvement. He might not know his sister had allied with a darkspawn magister.”

Dorian looked around worriedly. “We should head back to the ball quickly. Florianne may strike at any moment.”

Dorian was right, not that Jasper planned on giving him that satisfaction. Once more, he acted like Dorian had remained silent. They backtracked hastily through the Royal Wing, still dressed in their blood-spattered armor, and hesitated just outside the door of the ballroom. Jasper was about to march in there when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked around, surprised and scared to see Dorian, his silvery eyes full of concern.

“Be safe, please,” Dorian begged in hushed tones, reaching for Jasper’s hand and squeezing it. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for the empress, if it comes to that.”

Jasper slipped his hand out from his and turned away, but he didn’t completely ignore him this time. “If you ever find me risking my life for some fucking Orlesian noble, even if she is the empress, do the merciful thing and put me down.”

Dorian’s smile was brief. He still seemed terribly concerned as Jasper placed his hand on the doorknob. He ran a hand through his hair, then threw open the door to the ballroom. Very dramatic. Gaspard and Florianne were walking side by side through the crowd, looking entirely unbothered. That is, until their eyes landed on Jasper. The siblings shared a look of surprise and thinly veiled anger. Did they really think Jasper was that flimsy? That easy to defeat? Jasper took a step toward them, but Cullen blocked his path.

“Thank the Maker you’re back,” Cullen enthused with relief, grasping Jasper by the upper arm. He glanced at his bloody armor with confusion. “The empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?”

Jasper pulled Cullen aside and leaned close to his ear. “Grand Duchess Florianne is the assassin. Don’t let her near Celene. Gaspard may still be working with her.”

“The duchess?” Cullen asked in confusion, but he nodded anyway. Jasper didn’t really care about Celene’s life one way or the other, but he would _not_ allow Florianne to have any amount of satisfaction, even if keeping Celene alive wasn’t their best option. “At once, Inquisitor!”

Jasper drew back to the shadows, all too aware he was still wearing his armor and was stained with blood and that the nobles would be absolutely livid if they saw him. He watched as a herald stood at the head of the stairs leading down to the dancefloor and announced, “Let all gathered attend! Her Imperial Majesty will now address the court!”

The gathered nobles all stopped their chit-chatting and nibbling, their dancing and gossiping, to turn and give their full attention to their empress as she approached the balcony overlooking the dancefloor. Her voice carried over them all as she gave an impassioned speech about unity and patriotism; such boring tripe.

This was it. Jasper pushed through the nobles with barely contained anxiety, trying to get closer to Celene. The nobles who noticed him gave frightened little shrieks, unheard over the thundering applause as she gloated the strength of Orlais.

“This would not have been possible without the assistance of many,” Celene said modestly. “Dear cousin, please step forward.”

Jasper shoved nobles out of his way as he flat-out ran onto the balcony. “Grand duchess, stand down!” he shouted to the gasps of shocked nobles. Inquisition soldiers rushed forward to stop the duchess, and Jasper grabbed Celene by the arm and pulled her away from her cousin as the Inquisition soldiers moved to apprehend Florianne. Florianne, however, was faster than the soldiers, and she had them both prone on the ground in seconds, blood dripping from the curved dagger she now had in her hand.

“Now!” Florianne called out to the room, and harlequins appeared within the crowd suddenly, as if from thin air, and struck down Inquisition soldiers and spies where they stood. The nobles stood in shocked silence, still as statues as blood spattered across the marble floor and stained their fancy clothes. “For Corypheus! Kill them all!”

Then she ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just you wait til next chapter :)) angst awaits!!
> 
> also mostly the reason why i made this chapter shorter is to buy myself more time with writing the last several chapters because i am not happy with it at all and idk what i'm gonna do with it and i don't want to do another hiatus if i can avoid it. so i'll be doing shorter updates instead. sorry.


	24. Balls

Cullen appeared by Jasper’s side, a slash across his cheek, dripping blood onto his uniform. “Go, Inquisitor! I’ll protect the empress!”

Jasper nodded and hastily handed the shocked woman off to Cullen, then drew his daggers and sprinted after Florianne. She ran out a pair of glass doors onto the outdoor balcony and vaulted over the railing into the gardens below, agile as any rogue worth their salt. Jasper followed without hesitation, having thrown himself off of plenty of buildings in his days.

Florianne tore off her dress to reveal a _ridiculous_ black and pink jumpsuit. Where she suddenly acquired a bow and arrow, Jasper couldn’t even guess. Stashed away in a bush? Hidden beneath her voluminous skirts? She stopped at a fountain in the garden and whirled about, an arrow nocked in the bow and aimed squarely at Jasper’s head. He froze, holding out his arm to stop his companions from moving forward as they sprinted after him.

“Beaten at every turn,” Florianne spat bitterly. “You stole the moment of my triumph, just as you stole the demon army away from Erimond. And now you’ve chased a defenseless woman into the garden. Are you proud of yourself?”

Jasper couldn’t help but snort, dropping his hand and crossing his arms. “‘Defenseless’ is not a word I’d use to describe you, Florianne. Particularly when you’ve got an arrow pointed at my skull.”

“You never were one to fall for my helpless-damsel act,” Florianne allowed with a slight smile. As if they were old friends sharing a joke. Her finger twitched, and the arrow flew, and Jasper would’ve had no problem dodging out of the way, but someone slammed their body into his before he could leap to the side. Jasper fell to the ground, a body on top of him, and was startled and horrified to see Dorian, clutching his arm.

“Dorian!” Jasper cried, helping him to his feet, but Dorian waved him off.

“I’m fine, Jasper, focus on the duchess!” he insisted, hissing in pain as blood dribbled over his fingers from the wound on his arm he was grasping. The gates behind them clanged shut, and Jasper whirled back to the duchess, who had reappeared atop the fountain. He gripped the hilts of his blades as he faced her, anger boiling in his gut.

“The night is still young, Inquisitor,” she said coyly. “All I need to redeem myself...is to kill you. So good of you to attend my soiree.”

“Did you save that line all night just for me?” Jasper sneered as he leapt toward her, blades dancing. She really was a talented assassin. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, but Jasper had more experience in combat than she did, and he fought dirty, too, whereas her learning had all been technical and precise and by the book. She lacked spontaneity, the ability to take advantage of your environment and your enemy. The sight of her clawing dirt out of her eyes that Jasper had thrown into her face would be one that sustained him when missions didn’t pan out well in the future.

She kept trying to lead Jasper further and further from the gates, but he kept hovering near Dorian, who was barely maintaining barriers over them all as he clutched his wounded arm, face pale and drawn. Jasper was terrified to leave Dorian open and alone. He was in no position to be fighting, even protecting, the arrow still stuck in his arm. It could be poisoned, for Maker’s sake; they had no opportunity to check, but Jasper wouldn’t put it past Florianne.

“Jasper, stop being a mother hen, and _finish this fight_ ,” Dorian hissed at him through teeth gritted in pain.

“I’m not leaving you open to attack, Dorian,” Jasper insisted, but Dorian had a point. Florianne was an archer. She could easily attack from a distance, but Jasper couldn’t. She was baiting him, obviously, but he was useless unless he could get close. He looked at Dorian worriedly, redirecting an arrow with a swipe of his dagger. “Varric! Cover Dorian!”

Varric somersaulted over to give Dorian a hand, and Jasper threw down his own pellet of smoke, disappearing into the air as he stalked Florianne with a gut full of resentment and vengeance. He was behind her, and struck down with his daggers, but she had a barrier, too, and his daggers barely scratched her. They danced back and forth like that, him striking forward and her batting him away with her bow. She leapt back and got off several shots, one of which grazed Jasper’s cheek. He hissed. It burned like fire; definitely poisoned.

Jasper threw down a small, glass flask that engulfed him in flame that didn’t burn. Florianne stumbled back in shock, and Jasper took the opportunity to launch attack after attack, a flurry of a thousand strikes, whittling away at her defenses while Dorian kept a barrier around him, deflecting her attacks. Florianne tossed her bow to the side and grabbed Jasper by the wrists, twisting until his daggers were forced from his hands. She pushed him back and leapt at him with another hidden dagger, knocking him to the ground, but he locked his legs around her waist and rolled. She got in a few slashes through his armor before he forced it from her hand, tossing it far away.

Florianne tried to buck him off, and Jasper grabbed her by the collar, hoisting her torso up so he could headbutt her. She grunted in pain and still made a mad grab for Jasper’s throat. Jasper grabbed her chin and the back of her head and twisted sharply upward at an angle, a sickening crack resulting. A trickle of blood trailed from her nostril, her pale blue eyes gazing emptily at nothing as life left them. Jasper sat back on his haunches and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“You Maker-damned fucking cunt,” he spat, rising to his feet. “Too bad you won’t learn how to stay the fuck down.”

Cassandra rushed to Jasper to help him, but Jasper was limping single-mindedly to Dorian, reaching out for his lover before he’d even reached him. Dorian was pale and shaking. Jasper grasped his arms and bent to inspect the arrow. He couldn’t do anything; her arrowheads were jagged, and would cause more bleeding and make the wound harder to heal if they tore it out without medical help. And they were poisoned, too, but with what, Jasper couldn’t even guess. It could be a poisonous plant, it could be spider or snake venom.

“We need a healer,” he barked at Varric and Cassandra, his voice eerily even with a razor-sharp, taut edge to it. “Immediately.”

Cassandra nodded and ran back the way they’d come, sprinting past Empress Celene, Duke Gaspard, and Ambassador Briala. They barely paid her any attention as they made a beeline for Jasper, who was helping Dorian sit down on the grass, even as his limbs started to seize up and his breath became more labored.

“It’s okay, Dorian, you’ll be okay,” Jasper assured him, squatting beside him and holding his hand tightly. Jasper swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. Dorian had to make it. Their last few days together couldn’t be ones filled with pain and heartache and resentment. “You’ll be okay. Please. Please be okay. I need you to be okay.”

The three Orlesians were bickering as they approached Jasper, just a stone’s throw away from Florianne’s corpse. “Enough!” Celene said angrily, cutting off Briala and Gaspard’s barbs toward each other. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against the empire. For the sake of our country, I will have answers.”

She looked expectantly at the Inquisitor as he wiped sweat from Dorian’s brow worriedly, cradling Dorian’s head in his lap, looking around wildly. Where was Cassandra? Where was the healer? A healing potion would do nothing except seal the wound, with the arrow in it. They were losing time. Dorian was so pale, his eyes unfocused, his jaw clenched so tightly. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not without them figuring things out and sorting out their fight.

“Dorian, please, stay with me,” Jasper begged, clutching his hand. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as Dorian’s labored breaths rattled, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips and dribbling down his chin. Jasper felt his heart racing, and he’d barely gotten a taste of the poison in the tiny cut on his cheek. Then Dorian’s arms and legs began to shake and spasm, and Jasper clutched him tighter. “Maker, please, please, _vhenan_. Please!”

Varric sat beside Jasper, his hand gentle on Jasper’s back. The Orlesians watched morbidly, like this was an entertaining show being put on for them. A little drama on the stage. Jasper squeezed his eyes shut, a lump lodging in his throat. Then he heard the thundering of footsteps, and Jasper looked up to see Cassandra, closely tailed by a determined-looking Morrigan and a group of about a half-dozen mages. The witch shoved Jasper out of the way as she bent to inspect Dorian’s wound.

“Do you know what poison was used?” Morrigan asked sharply. “Search the duchess’ body.”

Right, of course. That should’ve been Jasper’s first course of action. Rogues who used poisons almost always kept an antidote on their person somewhere, just in case they accidentally poisoned themselves. Jasper leapt up with a nod and ran over to Florianne’s dead body, searching her carefully. He patted her down, but found nothing. He ran a hand through his hair desperately. Dammit. He needed to focus. She would have secret pockets that weren’t immediately obvious. On his second pass, he found a tiny vial in a rather horrifying spot. It must’ve been magically reinforced so it wouldn’t shatter.

Jasper gripped it in his shaking hands and returned it to Morrigan, who was leaning over Dorian. She’d snapped the shaft of the arrow and had tossed it aside, working on removing the arrow without causing further damage or trauma to the wound. The arrowhead was out by the time Jasper uncorked the vial and held it to Dorian’s lips. The pale liquid trickled into Dorian’s mouth, and Jasper didn’t realize tears were streaming down his own face until he noticed them dripping onto Dorian’s cheeks. Jasper carefully wiped them from the mage’s face and sat back on his heels, still cradling Dorian’s head in his lap.

“It will take a moment to take effect,” Morrigan said with certainty. Her face was calm and determined. “I will try to heal the damage as much as I can.”

She worked quietly for several minutes, removing the tainted blood from Dorian’s body. His eyes were closed and his body was relaxing, the color coming back to his face as the poison was counteracted. Jasper continued to gently hold Dorian’s head in his lap, stroking his sweat-dampened hair with his shaky fingers, humming quietly.

“That tune is Dalish, is it not?” Morrigan asked as she worked, not looking up from her blue-glowing hands.

Jasper nodded. “I lived amongst the Dalish as a young child.” He gave her no more answer than that. It was a tune he barely remembered, one he hadn’t thought of in years. But it came to him now, and it was soothing, and he hoped it soothed Dorian as well.

Dorian made a noise. Jasper froze and looked at Morrigan, who smiled slightly. There were lines of exhaustion over her delicate features. “It appears your lover is pulling through, Inquisitor.”

Jasper blushed. Lover. Did he _love_ Dorian? He wasn’t entirely sure. They obviously cared for each other, but you needed more than that for love. For a relationship. Maybe it was the terror of the world they lived in, the terror of never knowing if you were going to see each other again when you went out to battle. But they had such extreme ups and downs, constantly, and they always seemed to be at each other’s throats in some way. Either fucking or yelling. Tossing about insults and injury. Jasper knew every relationship had issues, but...the question was whether or not they’d be able to iron out theirs.

No, it wasn’t that he wasn’t sure whether or not he loved Dorian. He knew he did, even if they hurt each other sometimes. He was just scared to acknowledge those feelings. Scared for what that would mean for him and Dorian. What life could there possibly be for them? Even if they defeated Corypheus, even if they survived it all...were they really a good match, with all their fighting? Or did they just take comfort and affection where they could? Would their emotions be strong enough, theoretically, to sustain a relationship if they weren’t trying to prevent the end of the world?

Jasper was afraid of what the real answer would be. But he knew that he wouldn’t give up. Even if they weren’t “meant to be” or whatever, he wanted to be with Dorian _now_ , and for as long as he could. He wouldn’t give in without a fight. Even if it meant tearing each other apart. Even if it meant hurting.

Morrigan straightened up. “I’ve done all I can, Inquisitor. The rest is up to him. Your lover will be alright. He just needs to rest. Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids, once he comes to.”

Jasper sighed with relief and clung to Dorian, whose eyes were still closed, kissing the side of his head, tears still leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He had been so terrified, so absolutely struck dumb with fear that he would lose this man. “You dumb bastard, have you tired of me so quickly?”

Dorian made a soft noise, but seemed too tired to reply. Jasper looked up to see the Orlesians still gathered in the gardens, Inquisition soldiers moving in. Jasper flagged down a horrified-looking Josephine. “Josie, Dorian needs a bed.”

“Right away, Jasper,” she said with a nod as her take-charge attitude took over the horror, compassion in her kind, tear-filled gray eyes. A couple of soldiers helped lift Dorian up and carry him inside. Jasper wanted so desperately to follow them, to remain by Dorian’s side, but the Orlesians were watching him like hungry vultures, and descended upon him before he could leave.

“What do you all want?” he asked rudely, folding his arms as he sized them up.

“I want answers, Inquisitor,” Celene retorted. “And I know you have them. What on Thedas has happened this evening?”

Jasper huffed out a frustrated sigh. “You can’t trust a fucking Orlesian, or any nobles, for that matter,” Jasper snapped. “Gaspard has been sneaking chevaliers into the castle to launch a coup, entirely independent of his sister's plot. Briala doesn’t give a shit about you, and used her people as pawns to further her political machinations, all for her own power. She forged documents and killed your negotiators. And you, Celene...you ignored the Inquisition’s numerous warnings, you allowed Gaspard to sneak in soldiers so you could publically decry him, which put the lives of innocents at risk, and frankly, the cream puffs were rather stale.”

“You’ve made your point,” Celene said icily. “What do you want?”

Jasper rubbed his temples. There was so much he wanted. He wanted to be a normal elf again. He wanted Dorian to be okay. He wanted to be far, far away from the Winter Palace and all Orlesian nobles.

“Just stop the fuckery and get your shit together,” he barked. “The Inquisition manages to have people from incredibly diverse backgrounds all working together. Fereldans, Orlesians, Antivans, elves, dwarves, qunari, mages, templars, Chantry clerics, heretics, nobles, peasants. You’re all Orlesian, you have common ground already. You shouldn’t be finding this concept of ‘working together’ all that difficult, for fuck’s sake.”

Jasper took a deep breath, but cut off the three Orlesians before they could reply. “ _Or_ throw Briala and Gaspard into prison for duplicitous action, I don’t fucking care! I’m tired of getting caught up in stupid political intrigue because no one knows how to speak _plainly_. I’m tired of personal interests getting in the way of national peace. I’m tired of everyone fucking _bickering_ like a bunch of _spoiled_ _brats_ when there is a Maker-damned genocidal darkspawn magister wannabe-god on our fucking doorstep! If he wins, it doesn’t matter who’s the leader of Orlais, because Orlais will _no longer exist_.”

He stormed past them angrily. He didn’t hang around to watch them give their pretty speeches to the people, cleverly candied words to disguise the ugliness of absolutely _everything_. He wanted to be with Dorian, more than anything else, but he knew that Dorian needed to rest, and Jasper right now could not simply lay down and rest beside him, as ideal as that sounded. He felt like he was on fire still.

He plucked a flute of champagne from a passing servant and downed it, then another and another, shocking the nearby nobles. He did not listen to Celene’s speech, nor did he answer any questions addressed to him from the nobles he passed. They could all piss themselves, for all he cared. He grabbed another flute of champagne and staggered out onto a balcony, sucking in the fresh, cool air in great lungfuls.

Jasper stood out there for a couple of hours before a rustle of fabric announced the approach of another person. He groaned. Couldn’t anybody leave him well enough alone? He looked up to see Morrigan, perfectly put together, as if she hadn’t just saved someone’s life.

“All the nobility of Orlais is making drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?” Morrigan asked, an eyebrow quirked. “You are not with your lover, either.”

Jasper sighed. “I want to get blackout drunk and forget this whole fucking evening, if I’m being perfectly honest. Love the champagne and wine, but don’t they drink stronger stuff here? I could use something caustic. Something that burns going down.”

Morrigan gave him a sympathetic look. “Well, I hope that the following news doesn’t drive you to throw yourself off the balcony. I, by Imperial decree, have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including me. Congratulations.”

Jasper shrugged. “Listen, it’s far from the worst news I’ve received today. Welcome aboard, my dear.” He shot back the rest of his champagne and tossed the glass flute off the side of the balcony, listening to it shatter on the marble in the courtyard below.

She left with no comment, and Jasper stood there, staring out into the dark night, listening to the upbeat music and constant chatter and the chirping of the crickets in the garden below. Jasper ran both hands through his hair, resting his elbows on the railing, lacing his fingers together behind his neck. He wanted this all to just be over already.

Another set of slow footsteps approached him. He was about to curse out whoever was coming to bug him, but his words stuck in his mouth as he saw Dorian limping out to him. “Dorian!” he gasped, rushing forward to support the mage. “What are you doing up? You’re still injured, you should be in bed.”

Dorian chuckled and waved him off half-heartedly, leaning heavily on Jasper despite his flippant gestures. His voice was weak and raspy. “I still owe you a dance, don’t I?”

Jasper laughed weakly and had to swallow past the lump in his throat to stop from bursting into tears. As it was, his eyes were burning with unshed tears. “Don’t be such a fucking idiot, Dor. I could’ve come to you.”

“And miss the tiny cakes?” Dorian countered. “Perish the thought.”

Jasper pulled Dorian into a hug, mindful of his injury, but so desperate and delighted to have Dorian in his arms. Dorian’s arms wrapped around him, fingers knotting into Jasper's leathers. He hadn’t changed back into that stiff uniform yet. “You’re so fucking syrupy. How is it that the evil magister is such a fucking sentimental, doe-eyed dufus?”

Dorian chuckled weakly, taking a step back and bowing carefully, extending his hand. “May I have this dance, Inquisitor?”

Jasper was blushing. He’d missed Dorian’s little gestures. Maker’s arse, he’d missed Dorian. They still needed to sort out their shit, but it really shouldn’t have taken a near-death experience to show Jasper that. He shouldn’t have put it off until after the ball. He should’ve been a grownup and just...talked things out with Dorian, instead of ignoring him and getting drunk and high for days on end. After a moment, Jasper took Dorian’s hand and lifted him from his bow. “You may, Master Pavus.”

Dorian held one of Jasper’s hands in his and placed his other hand on Jasper’s waist. Jasper settled his free hand on Dorian’s shoulder, and they swayed from side to side for a few minutes, not really following any dance moves, just holding each other closely and enjoying the warmth, the closeness, the intimacy. Dorian’s breath was coming sharper, though, and his hand was sweaty in Jasper’s, so Jasper suggested gently that they sit. They sat side by side on the marble floor of the balcony, leaning back against the pillars of the railing. Jasper draped his bent leg over Dorian’s and they sat there holding hands, Jasper sneaking the occasional kiss from Dorian, which shocked the nobles that passed by their not-so-hidden hiding spot.

“Look how scandalized they are,” Jasper pointed out with a smirk, jerking his chin toward a knot of twittering nobles that kept shooting disapproving glances their way.

Dorian glanced over at them with disdain, and the nobles scooted out of eyesight when they realized that their gossiping had been noticed. But Dorian’s features were soft, a smile on his lovely lips, and he turned back to Jasper. “Find me ten silk scarves, and I’ll show them a dance that’ll _really_ scandalize them.”

“Dorian,” Jasper sighed happily, their noses brushing, eyes half-lidded. The alcohol had certainly loosened his tongue, but this was something Jasper had been thinking about saying for weeks now. Something he should’ve said weeks ago. He searched Dorian’s face in the half-light, swallowing against the tiny, scared voice in his head, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I think I love you.”

Dorian chuckled softly. “I sure hope you’re more certain than that, _amatus_.” He kissed Jasper lightly, just a brush of their lips together. It was so gentle that it sent shivers down Jasper’s spine. “I...love you, too, Jasper. With every fiber of my being.”

The occasional kisses turned into one, long, slow kiss, full of passion and longing, shocking the nobles even as they whispered how sweet a couple they made. Everything Jasper wanted to communicate was in that kiss. Every emotion and every thought, every feeling and every moment.

Dorian held Jasper close, their breath mingling as Dorian rested his head on Jasper’s shoulder. Soon his breath became deeper and more even, and the mage was asleep out on the balcony of the Winter Palace, and what would his mother say? Jasper laughed to himself as he wrapped an arm around his _vhenan_ , protecting him from the slight chill in the air. It didn’t matter what anyone said about anything, because they had each other. And nothing would keep them apart.

***  
Of course, simply admitting their love for each other and sharing a dance and a kiss did not solve their issues like magic. They returned to the chateau they were renting, Jasper carefully helping Dorian into the large bed they would share. (Jasper had slept in the stable the night before, rather than share a bed with Dorian.) Jasper was about to crawl in after him, but Dorian stopped him. Jasper felt his heart stop beating for a second, his breath catching. This was it. This was when Dorian would finally say it. That they were incompatible, and things weren’t going to work out, and they’d been fools for trying, but there was simply no chance for reconciliation.

“Jasper,” Dorian said softly. Jasper swallowed. “We can’t just pretend like the other night never happened.”

“Yes we can,” Jasper said hoarsely, mouth dry. He stood there beside Dorian, who was sitting on the bed, skin still too pale. “We’ve been doing a good job of it, in fact.”

Dorian took Jasper’s hands in his own. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. That was...unforgivable. Unworthy. I...shouldn’t have implied the things I did. It was vicious. I had wanted to hurt you, not intentionally, but I realize that in the heat of our argument, I was so obsessed with trying to get you to see things my way, that I said whatever I thought would get that point across. Even if they were horrible things to say.”

Jasper sat beside Dorian, facing him, still holding his hands. “I _was_ jealous, though. I was being...manipulative, even, to an extent. I was ignoring your request to leave things alone. I just...I’m not used to this.” He gestured between them as he gnawed his lip. “A functional relationship. I just wanted to do something nice for you, and I didn’t stop to think, ‘oh, maybe Dorian actually has a good reason for not wanting gifts’. Which you don’t, by the way. Your reasons are stupid. Also I’m sorry for slapping you.”

Dorian chuckled. “I deserved that. But I don’t want people to think I’m taking advantage of you, Jasper. I mean that. I heard what the nobles at tonight’s ball were saying. They think I’m just using you. They think you’re...too stupid to see me for what I really am.”

Jasper reached forward to cup Dorian’s cheek in his palm. “ _I_ know you for who you are. You are smart and sweet and kind. You give so much and you are so loyal and brave and loving. You’re snarky and witty and charming and funny. I don’t care what a bunch of puffed-up nobles think of us. You’re the brightest star in the sky to me, Dorian.”

There was such emotion in Dorian’s eyes that Jasper thought it would overflow. But the man just crushed them together, their lips meeting in a rough clash of teeth. Jasper was rather surprised, but he didn’t mind at all. He buried his hands in Dorian’s soft waves and shifted so he was in Dorian’s lap rather than hanging half-off the bed. Dorian winced and Jasper pulled back immediately, checking Dorian over with concern.

“Are you okay?” Jasper asked, stroking Dorian’s cheek with his thumb.

Dorian’s breath was rather short, considering they’d only been kissing for a few seconds. “Fine. Just...a little sore, is all.”

Jasper shook his head. “You shouldn’t have thrown yourself at me earlier, in the courtyard, you know. I would’ve dodged it just fine.”

Dorian blushed. “I know that now, but I…” He took a breath, a misty look coming over his eyes. “In the moment, I simply didn’t think. I just acted. I saw you, in danger, and I couldn’t simply stand there and do nothing.”

Jasper pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re so sentimental. I love that. I love you, _ma vhenan_.”

Dorian hummed happily. “What’s ‘ma vhenan’ mean?”

Jasper was blushing now. “It means...my heart. In elven. What about ‘ _amatus_ ’, what does that mean?”

Dorian smiled broadly, genuinely. Jasper was rather breathless at the sight. “It doesn’t really have a direct translation. The closest would be ‘beloved,’ I suppose.”

Jasper leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dorian’s, their noses brushing. “I love you, Dorian. I always will, no matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stupid boys finally sort their shit out. thanks for hanging in there. sry for the slow update, i crashed my bike and fucked my knee up and it's not been groovy dudes.


	25. Feelings and shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry for the unplanned hiatus. shit happens ig.

Until Dorian was cleared by a healer for travel, he was bound to the rented chateau just outside of Val Royeaux. The others moved on, since it was especially important for Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen to return to Skyhold as soon as possible. Cassandra and Varric dawdled a bit, but when Jasper finally relented and let a small contingent of Inquisition soldiers stay with him and Dorian at the chateau for extra protection, they continued on as well. Staying with Dorian meant that things were a little bit at a stand-still for the moment, but missions were the last thing on Jasper’s mind. And he didn’t mind the quality time with Dorian, away from all the stress of Val Royeaux and Skyhold and all the things people expected of him.

Dorian was quite taken with the library in the study. It wasn’t _quite_ as impressive as the library in Skyhold, but it had the classical Orlesian novels that Dorian found so quaint and adorable. Jasper didn’t quite get it, since he refused to read any of them. He’d had quite enough of Orlais as it was.

“ _Amatus_ , you really must give this one a chance,” Dorian insisted from his big comfy chair, waving a book with a blue cover in the air. There was delicate gold writing across it in a loopy script. “It’s a _classic_.”

Jasper was behind the desk in the study, trying to juggle pots of ink. So far, none had broken, but it made Dorian’s brow pinch adorably every time he glanced over. “You’ve said that about _all_ of them, my love, and my answer remains the same. The only time I want to hear Orlesian ever again is you saying something filthy in that language when you fuck me.”

Dorian’s cheeks turned red as he watched Jasper toss the three inkpots in the air, turning end over end. “About that. Can we talk?”

They both flinched when Jasper failed to catch one inkpot and it shattered on the floor, spattering black liquid over the rug and Jasper’s boots. Jasper glanced down at it and grimaced, setting the surviving inkpots aside. “There goes the deposit. Oh well.”

“Jasper,” Dorian sighed. “Come here and talk to me.”

After a moment of chewing his lip contemplatively, Jasper meandered over with the unmistakable air of a child expecting a scolding. “What is it, Dorian? We’ve never had to...have a talk about sex before. We’ve more or less been on the same page with that.”

Dorian reached for Jasper and pulled him closer so he was standing between his legs. Jasper pouted. “Jasper, my love. _Amatus_. It’s nothing bad, so stop looking at me like that. I just...remember when we talked...about...about me...bottoming?”

Jasper nodded, not quite following where this was going, but he did remember their conversation, so long ago. Dorian had been used and hurt. He wasn’t so into it anymore, and Jasper understood that, and as much as Jasper missed topping, he would never grow tired of Dorian filling him.

“Well, I was thinking…” Dorian trailed off, not quite meeting Jasper’s eyes. It was unsettling. He was rarely at a loss for words, or uncertain, or shy. He was always brash and clever and witty and charming. But right now, his gray eyes glancing away, the blush on his cheeks... Jasper cupped Dorian’s face in his hands, thumbs caressing his cheekbones. Reassuring him. Reminding him that he’d meant what he said the other night: he would always love him, no matter what.

Dorian cleared his throat, looking up into Jasper’s hazel eyes. “Well. It’s just that...I want to try it. Again. With you. Because I trust you.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Then a grin broke across Jasper’s face. “I hope you’re not joking, Dorian, because that would be a cruel joke.” Dorian gave him a tug. Jasper leaned in and kissed Dorian, easing himself onto Dorian’s lap, straddling him. There was plenty of room for them both in the large, fancy chair. Jasper looped his arms around Dorian’s neck, sighing as he opened his mouth for Dorian. Dorian hummed and settled his hands on Jasper’s hips, pulling him closer as their tongues slid together. Maker, how Jasper had missed this.

Dorian’s hands slid under the hem of Jasper’s tunic, his rough, calloused fingertips running over his scarred skin. Jasper sighed into his mouth, and a part of him wondered if anyone else would ever find him as attractive as Dorian did. He was covered head to toe in scars of all lengths, some more raised than others, old and new. Some had healed better than others. Some would always stand livid and ugly, no matter what healing magic was applied to them.

Jasper stood up and pulled Dorian with him, their kiss breaking for a moment. It wasn’t easy multi-tasking, juggling between kissing Dorian breathless and maneuvering him through the door and down the hall to the bedroom. There was a lot of pressing each other against the expensive wallpaper and wainscoting and wandering hands and gasps for air. At this rate, they’d be fucking on the corridor floor - which, honestly, would not be a negative, as the carpteing was rather exquisit. It just meant that the household staff would probably be exposed to far more than they’d like to. They’d gossip and all of Orlais would know the intimate details of Dorian and Jasper, but Jasper couldn’t really see the downside right there.

But he knew they really ought to be in their borrowed bedroom for this. For what Dorian had asked...Jasper wanted to do it right. He wasn’t going to make Dorian feel like it was just a quick fuck or whatever. He was going to make Dorian feel loved.

They crashed through the bedroom door and it was all Jasper could do to keep them from tumbling to the floor in a painful jumble of limbs. He kicked the door shut behind him with a bang, and practically collapsed on top of Dorian on the lush, velvet bed sheets. His shirt was somewhere in the hall, practically torn off in their haste. Jasper growled in Dorian’s ear as he tugged at the stupid, relentless buckles adorning Dorian’s expensive robes.

“Dammit, Dorian, why do you wear clothes that are so difficult to get off during sex?” Jasper cursed.

Dorian chuckled breathlessly. “For the foreplay, of course.”

Jasper pressed his lips back to Dorian’s as he pulled away Dorian’s robes hungrily, his short nails scraping down Dorian’s chest and stomach. He pushed away the sides, drawing back and breaking their kiss to watch it fall around Dorian’s body and pool around his hips. Jasper shivered as Dorian ran his warm, slender hands down Jasper’s body. First down his sides, then across his belly to settle on his hips. He slid his fingers below Jasper’s waistline and pushed his trousers down.

“Hang on, why am _I_ in the role of someone about to be...deflowered and _utterly_ debauched?” Jasper protested, hands on Dorian’s shoulders. He stood above Dorian with a cocked eyebrow and a crooked, devilish smirk. “I want you on your back, Pavus.”

Dorian groaned as Jasper pushed him backwards. Dorian scooted back to the center of the huge, overstuffed bed, splayed in the nest of blankets and pillows. Jasper was poised above him, between his legs. He held his hands up, positioned his index fingers and thumbs to make a rectangle, Dorian perfectly positioned in the frame of his fingers.

“Maker’s _breath_ , Dorian, I ought to commission a portrait of you,” Jasper said breathlessly, grinning at Dorian’s blush. “Just like this. I mean, fuck, but you’re beautiful.”

“You don’t need to flatter me, Jasper, you’ve already got me just where you want me,” Dorian teased, waving away Jasper’s compliment almost dismissively. As if this were just banter.

Jasper cocked an eyebrow as he reached into the side table and pulled out a vial of oil that he’d been waiting to use. He uncorked it with his teeth and dribbled the oil over the fingers of his right hand. “Dorian, I mean it when I say you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I…” Jasper licked his lips, maintaining eye contact with Dorian as he shifted, his fingers positioned outside Dorian’s entrance. “Look, I mean, I’ve fucked a lot of people. I’ve been in love. But none of that compares, Dorian, to what I feel for you.”

Dorian hissed as Jasper slid one finger in slowly, gently, and Dorian used that as an excuse not to answer, biting his lip and grabbing at the sheets to fight off a wince. It was one thing to talk about being in love. To talk about devotion and adoration. Right now, there was something in Jasper’s eyes, in the lines of his face and the scars of his body, that overwhelmed Dorian. Maybe it was just this position they were in, Jasper sliding another finger into Dorian and carefully stretching him, so attentive to any change in Dorian’s expression. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so...taken care of. He had no doubt that if he decided right then to stop, Jasper would immediately cease his actions. Not just that, of course, which was the basic expectation, but he knew Jasper wouldn’t judge him for it. He knew Jasper would check in with him and make sure he was okay. That things wouldn’t be weird between them.

Dorian pulled Jasper’s head down to his, their lips meeting in a messy, hot kiss. Jasper slid a third finger into Dorian, swallowing his moans of pleasure. A few minutes later, Jasper pulled his fingers out and Dorian whimpered with the loss of them, but it wasn’t long before Jasper was lubing his cock and sliding, inch by inch, into Dorian, holding his legs wide. Dorian moaned, loud and unrestrained, in Jasper’s ear, clutching at his shoulders, his curls, the back of his neck. Jasper made a noise in his throat as he sheathed himself in Dorian, nails digging into the flesh of Dorian’s thighs that wrapped around Jasper’s hips.

“Jasper,” Dorian gasped. Jasper reached for his face with one hand, cupping his palm around Dorian’s cheek. Jasper kissed him softly as he began to move, slow but full of passion and love. Dorian moved his hand over Jasper’s, lacing their fingers. “Jasper.”

“ _Dorian_ , you feel so good,” Jasper sighed, speeding up his pace. He was still being gentle, gentler than he’d really ever been before. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so delicate during sex, but he was so focused on making sure that Dorian felt safe and loved. He buried his face in the side of Dorian’s neck, panting against his skin, still clutching Dorian’s hand now pressed against the sheets. With his other hand, he took Dorian’s aching cock and stroked him. Dorian writhed beneath his body, nails digging long red lines down Jasper’s pale back.

The house was so quiet, nothing like the constant hustle and bustle of Skyhold, and all they could hear were their heavy breaths mingling in the air and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin and the sounds of pleasure escaping from their throats. Jasper felt Dorian tighten around him, his cock twitching, and with a shout of ecstasy Dorian came, hot seed spurting over their bodies. Jasper wasn’t far behind, and he clung to Dorian as he came, biting his shoulder _hard_ , muffling his moans in Dorian’s sweaty skin.

Jasper all but collapsed on top of Dorian, but managed to roll over instead, even though he didn’t think Dorian would much care either way. Jasper ran a hand over his face, still panting, wiping away the sweat from his brow. Then he glanced over at Dorian, a small, pleased smile on his face. But Dorian was looking away, face turned from Jasper’s.

“Dori?” Jasper asked, propping himself up on one elbow. “Baby, you okay?”

Dorian turned back to look at him, face flushed and eyes heavy. Jasper felt heat creeping up his neck as they looked at each other for a long moment, neither saying anything. Then Dorian reached out to him, running a hand down Jasper’s arm lightly. Jasper shivered at the delicate touch, the harsh callouses ghosting over his skin.

“I feel consumed by you, _amatus_ ,” Dorian murmured quietly.

Jasper raised an eyebrow, still a little confused and concerned. “Oh? Like, you want me to eat your ass?”

Dorian burst out laughing. Jasper was still confused, but he liked hearing Dorian laugh, even if it was because Jasper was kind of dumb. Dorian smiled at him. “I’m not opposed to it, but that’s not what I was referring to. I mean...I don’t know what I mean, honestly.”

“Are you at a loss for words, Master Pavus?” Jasper asked with a snort, gazing down at him.

“You have that effect on me, Jasper,” Dorian told him. Jasper felt himself blushing. Maker’s breath, why did Dorian have _this_ effect on him? Jasper really hadn’t been one to blush, before Dorian had come along and changed things.

“Let me get a towel,” Jasper said suddenly, gesturing toward the mess still on both of their abdomens. He disappeared through an adjoining door to the washroom, and came back with a couple of extra-soft towels. “These are better than what we’ve got at Skyhold. I ought to put in a requisition with Josie.”

Jasper returned to Dorian on the bed and they cleaned each other up. Jasper kept sneaking glances at Dorian, still puzzling him out. He wished Dorian could be more direct with his words sometimes. He tossed the soiled towels aside and pulled Dorian close, wrapping his arms around him as they leaned against the down pillows.

“Did you want to...get dressed for dinner?” Jasper asked, words slightly muffled in Dorian’s waves. “Or we could have it brought to the room?”

“I’m not keen to get dressed any time soon,” Dorian said, yawning, his body stretching marvelously. Jasper licked his lips as he watched. “I rather like the sight of you as you are.”

Jasper chuckled and started pressing kisses along Dorian’s neck and ear. “Okay. Give me a minute to let the staff know.”

It was still bizarre, as an elf who had grown up on the streets, to be ordering around servants, especially _elven_ servants. No matter how polite and kind he was, it still felt weird. He dressed in one of the impossibly soft, green silk robes and headed into the antechamber of the apartments, which was furnished as a sitting room. He rang a large bell that sat on the mantel as he tied his robe loosely, and bare moments had passed before the head of household knocked gently on the door before entering. If she was shocked at seeing Jasper nearly nude and very mussed-looking, she did not seem it.

“Yes, my lord?” she asked with a bow.

This was what always made Jasper anxious. He still didn’t like the bowing bit. Or the “my lord” bit. “Um, Master Pavus and I will be taking dinner in here tonight.”

The elven woman bobbed her head. “Very good, my lord. Is that all?”

Jasper nodded and dismissed her, and she bowed again before leaving. Jasper pulled at the ties of his robe as he headed back to the bedroom, wondering if Dorian was up for a round two yet. He was surprised to see Dorian asleep, face relaxed and breath even. Jasper smiled at the sight. He looked so peaceful. Careful not to disturb him, he crawled into bed beside him and wrapped his arms around him, spooning from behind. He could feel Dorian’s heartbeat under his hand. He held him close, wishing that they never had to part from this place, this moment.

***  
When Dorian was cleared for travel, they left the rented chateau behind with mixed feelings. Glad to be gone from Val Royeaux, for sure, but also sad that the week they’d had to themselves was now at an end, and it was back to business as usual. Stopping Corypheus. Jasper felt a bizarre sense of calm that set him on edge. He was biting his nails now, wondering what was next. This - the Grey Wardens and the demon army, the assassination of Celene and power imbalance of Orlais - was as much as they knew from the dark future Jasper had experienced. These were the plans they knew about. What would Corypheus do now that they’d foiled both of his big plans?

A more important question: What would the Inquisition do? They’d been half a step ahead of him, sure. But now, there was nothing to do, nothing to plan for, except to bring the fight to Corypheus.

The only problem was that they had no idea where he was, or where his forces were. They were laying low, evidently, and over the next several weeks no one seemed to know where they’d gone. Jasper had just gotten back from a foray into the Emprise du Lion, thoroughly bummed out to find out that Dorian, who had not accompanied him since he was still not cleared for battle, was in Val Royeaux (gross), and not naked and waiting in Jasper’s bed. Dorian had gone to secure a shipment of very rare and expensive books, and determined that no one else could be trusted to do the job.

Jasper, therefore, was planted at the bar of the Herald’s Rest, nursing a mug of something that was definitely a little stronger than ale.

“You need some stress relief,” Sera declared, plunking herself down beside him. She seemed to have appeared from nowhere, but Jasper shouldn’t have been surprised. She did live in the tavern, and she was light on her feet, being a rogue. “Not the kind you and fancy-pants magey boy get up to. Don’t go gettin’ any ideas, hear?”

Jasper blinked at her owlishly. “Okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Look at this tavern. We just won again against Coryphenus, right, so why’s everyone drinking alone? They’re all up their own arses about the Inquisition, that’s why. They’ll fall on their own swords before Corysyphilis can push them.”

Jasper looked out at the tavern. It was a rather subdued evening. Several soldiers had died at the Winter Palace, and the news in the Emprise was bad. Jasper wasn’t the only one who was mulling in silence.

“Okay, what’s your idea, Sera dearest?” Jasper asked, standing when she did.

She giggled. “I’m thinkin’ _pranks_ , yeah? Set a few up, knock a few down… You in or not?”

Jasper shrugged. He hadn’t pulled pranks...ever. He had been a mischievous child with the Dalish, but too young to pull off a good prank. The older kids never let him join. And then the whorehouse was no place for pranks; Auntie would sooner tan his hide than let him play a prank at her expense. By the time he’d joined the Buzzards, pranks weren’t even an idea anymore. That was work, and pranks did not mix with work. Augustus wouldn’t have let him do something so frivolous that could interrupt their hard work.

“Why not?” Jasper offered with a shrug.

“What, really?” Sera replied in shock, as if she had expected Jasper to tell her to grow up or something.

“Yeah, really,” he said, smiling slightly. “I could use something to get my mind off the end of the world.”

“I knew you were different,” she enthused with another giggle. “Come on, let’s go!”

She ran off through the tavern with excitement, and Jasper dashed after her to keep up. Maker, he couldn’t remember the last time he did something that wasn’t self-destructive for fun. They first headed to Cullen’s office, which was empty at the moment, as the commander was overseeing a new training regimen down in the courtyard. The sound of him shouting at the soldiers was carrying on the wind.

“Right, General Uptight is gone,” Sera whispered, closing the door quietly behind them. She stood in the middle of the room and turned in a circle on her heel. “Hmm...what to do, what to do?”

Jasper leaned on the desk, watching her, wondering if this was really going to help. It was a nice distraction for him, at the very least. Sera turned and looked at him, eyes narrowing and then widening, alight.

“The desk! Perfect!” Sera said, shoving Jasper aside and bending beside the desk. “Good one, Quizzy. We’ll do something simple. A little slip of this under the leg...perfect. It’s not much, but it makes it just that tiny bit wonky, and he’s so in control all the time, it’ll piss him royally.”

Jasper snorted. “Wow. Devious.”

“I tell one of the soldiers, and boom! The general seems like people,” Sera explained. “And since he works for you, _you_ seem like people.”

Jasper considered that. He’d barely entered the Herald’s Rest since before they stormed Adamant Fortress. He’d been distant from the laymen of the Inquisition - the soldiers and the launderers, the bakers and the requisition officers, the carpenters and the scouts. And since the whole Adamant thing, and the whole Winter Palace thing, he’d become more of a legendary figure to them. He was becoming less a person, more of a figure. More of a figurehead. For fuck’s sake, there was a cult in the Hinterlands that was revering him as some sort of saint because he could close and open rifts.

“Come on, next one!” Sera said excitedly. They bounced around Skyhold, rooting through Josephine’s office and hanging a bucket of water over the door, digging through Leliana’s rookery. They got caught rummaging and had to make a run for it, and running from guards was the most fun Jasper had had in a long time. He forgot how fun it was to almost be caught, almost get in trouble, that bit of danger as you ran from authority. He hadn’t been able to run away from his responsibilities. Not this time around. But this was fun, just for a little while.

Especially when Sera pinned it all on him and left him holding the bucket Josephine threw at them from across the tavern.

***  
The lightheartedness and fun of the day of pranks didn’t last very long, though. The other council members could hardly bear Jasper’s mopiness day in and day out as he awaited Dorian’s return. Even though he wasn't due back for another week. Cullen didn’t seem particularly grated by it, but after Jasper had refused Josephine’s offer of teatime and Leliana’s insistence that he train and hone his skills, he was forced to step forward.

“Do you play chess, Inquisitor?” he asked after another droll meeting, walking with him through the hall.

Jasper sighed and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not a thinking sort of person, you know. This is why you’re our commander, Cullen, and not me.”

Cullen sighed. “Right. Well…” He seemed about to make up an excuse to ditch Jasper, but was stopped short by Dagna running across the hall to them, a determined look on her still-cheerful face.

“Commander! Inquisitor!” she greeted with a big smile. “I’ve started work on the red lyrium samples you brought me, so that I can find a weakness in Samson’s armor. But...that’s just it. I need more _details_ on his armor. How it’s made. Then, hopefully, once we have that, I can create a rune that can reverse engineer - “

Cullen cut her off. “I may have something that could help. I’ll let you know if we find something. Dismissed.”

Dagna looked a bit put out, but headed back to the undercroft. Cullen led Jasper back to his office, his steps purposeful and swift. Jasper jogged to keep up. Cullen started searching through the plethora of papers and reports on and in his desk, and Jasper had no clue how he could tell them apart with just a glance. They all looked the same: sheets of paper with tiny writing on them.

“Here it is,” Cullen said triumphantly, brandishing a bit of paper. “One of the orders you brought back from the mines in the Emprise. It mentions a man named Maddox. A name I did not expect to hear.”

Jasper quirked an eyebrow. “Ex-boyfriend?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “No. Though just as complicated. Maddox was a mage in Kirkwall’s Circle. Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart. Eventually Samson was caught - that’s why he was tossed out of the Order. Maddox was made Tranquil, and became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have...rescued him.”

Jasper frowned. “He was made Tranquil - had all his emotions and dreams taken away, literally - just because he had a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or whatever? That’s horrific. That’s inhumane.”

Cullen sighed. “You’re right. But these rules existed for a reason. You couldn’t just have mages and regular citizens fraternizing, especially using a _templar_ as the go-between.”

Jasper crossed his arms. “Dorian’s a mage. I’m a regular citizen. Is our fraternizing wrong?”

“That’s not what I mean, Inquisitor,” Cullen grated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “These _were_ the rules, because it was the best way to control the mages. As long as the citizens lived in fear of mages, and the mages had no outside connections, they were both easy to control. I’m not saying I agree, Jasper. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you try to treat human beings like dangerous animals and break them down like chattel. But I digress.”

“So what’s your plan, huh?” Jasper asked, leaning on the desk. “Recruit Maddox? Convince him to work as a double agent for us? An inside man amongst Samson’s forces would be...valuable. Do you think we _could_ convince him, if he’s Tranquil?”

Cullen shrugged. “Can’t say. I’ve lived around Tranquil for most of my life, but I’ve never understood them. He may not be able to conceptualize good and evil the way we do. Samson is his...friend, I suppose. So he helps him, because he has no one else. I don’t know if he would listen to us. But he is the one who built Samson’s armor, and the one who continues to maintain it. Tranquil need expensive, rare supplies for their enchantments - supplies we can trace. I can have our men kick down some doors. Samson’s armor might lead us straight to his stronghold.”

“Brilliant,” Jasper said. “Get on with it, then. I give my...Inquisitorial seal of approval for this endeavor.” He waved his hands at Cullen. “Go ahead.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll see what we can find.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again lmaooo but like look lots of fluff. cute. also like i have no idea how i'm gonna end this whole story omg.


	26. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood

Dorian returned to Skyhold a few days later, and he’d barely stepped off the end of the bridge before Jasper was on him like flies on honey. Dorian was rather pleased with Jasper’s _eager_ greeting, but he was still in his traveling clothes, which were dusty and wrinkled, and they were in the middle of the courtyard, in full view of _everyone_.

“Jasper,” Dorian gasped as he pulled away from Jasper’s lips for air, his face flushed. His breath came in uneven pants. He was very aware of the dozens of eyes on them right then. “Don’t you think this can wait a minute or two, _amatus_?”

Jasper shook his head, also aware of the eyes, but entirely ignoring them. “We’ve been separated for almost three weeks, Dorian, I’m going through withdrawal. Do you know how many times I’ve touched myself while thinking of you?”

Dorian’s eyes darkened to a stormy color as he looked down at his _amatus_ , one hand in his long curls. “You can tell me, if you like. Or you can show me. _In private_.”

Jasper made an exasperated noise and pulled Dorian along by the hand off to the side of the courtyard, shoving open the door of the armory/smithy and pushing Dorian inside. Jasper kicked the door shut behind him with a _bang!_ and pinned Dorian to the stone wall, hands already tugging loose the buckles of his stupid robes. Dorian moaned, trying to reign in his more carnal self, trying to be logical, just for a minute, even as all his sense was leaving him.

“Jasper, there could be someone in here,” Dorian protested half-heartedly. Jasper shrugged and started kissing a hot line down Dorian’s throat with desperate open-mouthed kisses. Dorian was finding it harder to think rationally. “Or someone could walk in at any moment.”

Jasper ran his hands under Dorian’s shirt and up his chest, pinching Dorian’s nipples as he bit his neck gently. Dorian bit his lip to muffle a moan, trying not to run his hands over Jasper’s back and shoulders, trying to restrain himself, just a little.

“Jasper…” Dorian tried, one more time, ready to give up.

“Maker’s tits, Dorian, when did you become such a fucking prude?” Jasper whined as he plunged a hand into Dorian’s trousers and smalls, fondling his rather alert cock. “Isn’t it hot? The idea that anyone might walk in when I’m balls-deep in you? Anyone might walk in with my come dripping down your thighs…”

Dorian couldn’t contain the moan that escaped his lips. “You are truly a desire demon, you know that, right? And I am entirely okay with it.”

Jasper grinned like the devil himself and recaptured Dorian’s lips in a passionate, greedy kiss, their teeth clacking together in a way that would’ve been awkward if Dorian wasn’t so entirely turned on by it. Jasper was so close to him, pressed so close, their skin touching and burning like there was a flame in their veins, but Dorian was fine with combustion if it meant he could have Jasper this close to him always.

Dorian pulled Jasper’s tunic up and over his head, briefly breaking their kiss, and tossed it aside, running his hands eagerly over Jasper’s skin, over the ridges of scars and the pattern of tattoos, thumbing the ring through his nipple. Then he grasped Jasper’s arse in both hands, squeezing, and Jasper _squeaked_.

Dorian pulled away, unable to stop the laughter that slipped out of his mouth. Jasper was blushing and he punched Dorian on the shoulder. Not quite playfully.

“Fuck you,” Jasper said, trying to look ticked off, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t expecting that, don’t fucking laugh.”

Dorian kissed the column of Jasper’s neck, kneading Jasper’s bottom in his large hands. Jasper moaned and his eyes fluttered a little as he looped his arms back around Dorian’s shoulders, fingers toying with the ends of his soft hair. He nuzzled Dorian’s ear.

“I really did miss you, Dor,” Jasper murmured into his ear softly.

Dorian paused and straightened up to look down into Jasper’s earnest eyes. “I’ll always return to you, Jasper, no matter how far apart we may be. Remember that.”

Jasper ducked his head. “We’re getting a little too solemn, considering we’re fucking in the armory.”

Dorian laughed. “My apologies. Although we haven’t quite gotten to that part yet, have we? You’re still far too clothed.”

Jasper grinned, the piercing through his lip peeking out. “Speak for yourself.” He pushed Dorian up against the wall with a shove that had Dorian smirking. Then he started pulling apart the buckles with an acquired accuracy and speed that spoke to just how accustomed Jasper was to this. Dorian pulled his robes off and dropped them, pooling around his feet. Jasper took a minute to admire Dorian’s excellent body: the taut muscles and crisscrossing scars, the moles dotted over his dark honey-colored skin. Jasper pressed kisses to as many of those moles as he could find, all the while working Dorian’s cock with his hand, slowly, so slowly.

Then Jasper grabbed Dorian by the arms and spun him around so his face was against the rough wall of the armory, his hands splayed on the stone, bracing his body. Jasper pressed close, flesh to flesh, running his fingers over Dorian’s hot skin, down over his thighs, across his abdomen. Dorian made an unhappy noise when Jasper took his hands away, but it was just to loosen his own trousers and let them fall to the floor.

Jasper had one hand over Dorian’s mouth, partly to muffle his moans, partly so Dorian could lick and suck on his fingers. Dorian’s mouth was hot and wet as he sucked Jasper’s index and middle finger, laving them with his tongue. His other hand was stroking Dorian’s cock with slow, practiced tugs. He moved his fingers from Dorian’s perfect mouth and danced them around Dorian’s entrance, teasing. Jasper smirked against his shoulder as he slid his middle finger slowly inside Dorian. Dorian gasped quietly and bit his lip, then nodded over his shoulder to Jasper, rocking a little against his hand.

“My, my,” Jasper crooned, adding a second finger. “You’re sure eager, aren’t you?”

“Jasper,” Dorian sighed, like he was trying to sound scolding but couldn’t quite manage it. “Three weeks it’s been. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Jasper grinned and added a third finger, kissing the tense muscles along Dorian’s shoulders and back. He loved watching them bunch up and relax as his fingers moved inside Dorian. Maker’s breath, but Dorian really was beautiful. Jasper curved his fingers inside Dorian, pressing against that _spot_ , and Dorian moaned in delight. Jasper did it again and again, watching Dorian’s muscles, the curve of his neck as his head dropped back. Jasper leaned in and nipped the pulse point on Dorian’s throat, reveling in the mage’s moans of pleasure. Maker, how he ached for him.

Jasper slowly pulled his fingers out, pressing kisses along Dorian’s shoulders as he replaced them with his dripping cock. He slid in slowly, inch by inch, stroking Dorian’s shaft with even strokes as he sheathed himself inside. With his free hand, he tweaked Dorian’s nipples, playing with one and then the other. Jasper rested his head against Dorian’s shoulder for a moment, licking his lips, just mesmerized by the feeling of Dorian around him.

“Dorian,” Jasper sighed, stroking Dorian to match his pace as he started to thrust. He panted against Dorian’s sweat-slicked skin, and felt one of Dorian’s hands come around to bury itself in his curls. “Maker, you’re...sinful.”

It seemed that Dorian’s preoccupations of being in a very public area had dissipated, his head thrown back with moans and whimpers and sighs as Jasper rocked against him. Jasper’s breath was heavy in Dorian’s ear as he nipped at it, sucking his lobe between his teeth and licking it.

“ _Jasper_ ,” Dorian gasped as Jasper started walking them both backwards. Dorian glanced at him blearily, not quite following what was happening but aware that Jasper was not fucking his brains out. He didn’t have long to ponder why, though, because Jasper had him bent over one of the work tables in the smithy, armor and weapons being scattered across the floor with a sweep of Jasper’s arm.

“Sorry, Dorian, but you’re too tall,” Jasper explained, his voice a little uneven as he resumed his pace, one hand grasping Dorian’s hip, the other tugging at his dark waves. “ _This_ is much better.”

Dorian just moaned in response, taking himself in hand. With his free hand, he gripped the edge of the table, nails digging into the wood as Jasper thrusted into him roughly, pulling his hair sharply. The pain just sharpened the pleasure, making it sweeter and sweeter. Pleasure was coiling deep in his belly, mounting and climbing with every movement from Jasper, every stroke and every steamy breath, every tug of hair and scraping of nails down his back.

“Come for me, Dorian,” Jasper ordered, his voice rough, his thrusts becoming a little jerky as he got closer and closer to that perfect horizon. He moved his hand from Dorian’s hair to his throat, pressing his fingers against the veins on either side. Dorian groaned, eyes fluttering as his vision got a little blurred around the edges with pleasure, desire, his cock throbbing. Jasper moved his hand from Dorian’s hip, where he’d been squeezing hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, and wrapped his own hand around Dorian’s, jerking him off together. He licked a stripe up Dorian’s back; the salty tang of his sweat was like honey on Jasper’s tongue, and rested his forehead on his shoulder.

“ _Dorian_ ,” he moaned, “I’m not going to tell you twice.”

He gave Dorian a rough pull and a hard squeeze and revelled in the sound of Dorian’s grunt and groan, the strangled gasp as he came over both their hands. Dorian’s forehead hit the wooden table with a thud, his mouth slightly open as bliss washed over him. That was all Jasper needed. He gave up on pacing entirely and just pistoned his hips until he came with a groan, burying his cock as deep as he could in Dorian. He sank his teeth into Dorian’s shoulder, hard, shuddering as pleasure arced through him in waves.

Jasper was shocked by the coppery flavor of blood in his mouth and pulled back, staring at the spot on Dorian’s shoulder where he’d bitten hard enough to break skin. Blood was beading on his skin, dark ruby, catching the gleam of firelight.

“Dorian,” Jasper said nervously, blushing. “I’m sorry. You’re bleeding. I didn’t mean to -”

Dorian turned around, his eyes a little unfocused, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed. Jasper stuttered to a halt at just how gorgeous he looked after a thorough fucking. His mind went blank for a second, and then Dorian had leaned toward him and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Jasper staggered and looped his arms around Dorian, but then Dorian was pulling away, too.

“Sorry,” Dorian said, not sounding contrite in the slightest. He touched his shoulder gingerly, and there were a few spots of blood on his fingertips. Not much, but still. Jasper felt bad, even as he admitted to himself that he’d do it again. But not without Dorian’s consent. Dorian looked at him. “I - your mouth is - there’s blood on your teeth and lips.”

Jasper licked his lips slowly, and yes, he could still taste Dorian’s blood. It sent a thrill down his spine. He swallowed thickly, adam's apple bobbing, watching Dorian. Their eyes met, Dorian’s dark and stormy.

“That was hot,” Jasper said at length. He took Dorian’s hand in his and brought his blood-slicked fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick them clean. He watched Dorian’s eyes darken with lust as he sucked a finger into his mouth and popped it out, letting it linger on his swollen lips.

“This was new,” Dorian admitted. “For me.”

“Me, too, actually,” Jasper told him softly. “Augustus would’ve never let me do something like that, and I’ve never...really had the opportunity with anyone else to try it. Um, you should probably have that treated or something. Bandage.”

“This? I can heal it myself if I want to, it’s barely a scratch,” Dorian said. Then, more reluctantly: “Come on, now, let’s get dressed before someone finds us naked and covered in blood and accuses me of being a maleficar.”

***  
Jasper watched as Dorian perused his personal correspondence at Jasper’s desk, humming quietly as he slit open an envelope with an engraved letter opener. Flowers dotted its handle. Dorian was really the only one who used the desk, since Jasper hated having to deal with any official correspondence. Jasper was sitting on his bed, feet tucked under his legs, reading the first volume of _Swords and Shields_. A rare moment of quiet companionship between themselves. No strategy planning or a rushed fuck. No arguing or lying. Just a moment of peace and quiet, enjoying each other’s soft presence. It was...domestic, almost unnervingly so.

Dorian chuckled softly as he read the letter, which drew Jasper’s attention away from Varric’s really rather soapy novel. Dorian was smiling crookedly, a fond expression on his face, and Jasper really liked how the warm mid-morning sun streamed through the tall balcony windows and gilded Dorian in gold like he was a lovingly-painted portrait of the ideal male form. A true Adonis.

“You got some smutty fanmail or something?” Jasper asked, saving his place in the book before setting it aside. He arched backward, stretching his back, arms braced against the duvet. “Must be _really_ naughty if you’re laughing.”

Dorian looked up, still smiling. “No, nothing nearly as delicious as that. Just a letter from a friend at home. Magister Maevaris Tilani. She’s an old friend of mine, very like-minded, politically.”

Jasper hummed. “A magister? What’s she said?”

Dorian set the letter aside and stretched his arms above his head, before rising out of the chair and crossing over to Jasper. “Before I left, we had talked of all these grand plans for the Imperium - reform and revolution, if you will.” He smirked. “We thought it was crazy and wishful back then. Now, I’m not so sure. I think we could really pull it off. I mean, look at you. Doing all the amazing things you do, simply through sheer force of will.”

“And an amazing team,” Jasper reminded him, reaching for his hand. “I’d be nothing without Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. Not to mention all of my companions. Especially you, _vhenan_.”

Dorian squeezed Jasper’s hand. “You wouldn’t be nothing, _amatus_. You know that. But we do provide quite a bit of help, don’t we? Anyway, I think...you know...when this is all done…” Dorian looked away suddenly, as if nervous, and that set Jasper on edge. What would happen when this was all done? Assuming they even survived? “Well, it could be possible, you know - but I’m getting away from myself.”

He sat beside Jasper on the bed, moving _Swords and Shields_ to the bedside table. “Mae wrote. She’s trying to get the Magisterium to publicly denounce the Venatori, and to take steps to prevent their spread among the citizens. Root out strongholds. She has a _lot_ of power and sway, and I think she’ll pull it off. She made an interesting suggestion, though, based mostly on the fact that you backed up the mages rather than the templars. She said...she proposed that maybe the Inquisition could play host to Tevinter dignitaries, rather than just Fereldan and Orlesian and Marchers, and the occasional Antivan and Nevarran...” He trailed off, watching Jasper carefully.

Jasper raised his eyebrow. “That’d be...unheard of, wouldn’t it? When was the last time any country hosted Tevinter ambassadors, or dignitaries, or any sort of...anyone? Maybe except Rivain, since they’re so chill about magic, but they sort of walk to their own drumbeat anyway.”

Dorian shrugged. “Maybe. Except for our relations with the dwarves of Orzammar. But I think Mae might be onto something. If Tevinter could see that the Inquisition doesn’t demonize mages...even allows them free-reign, practically...it could show them that the Venatori aren’t the only option. That they’re not the _right_ option.” He frowned. “I don’t know. So many magisters are so...power-hungry, they might not care either way, to be honest. But I think we could reach some of them…”

Jasper was watching Dorian with interest; he rarely heard him sound so unsure of himself, yet so earnest. “Dorian, you know I hate ‘Vints. But I think you’re right. Maybe we’ll be able to persuade them to end the slave trade while we’re at it, hm?”

“You’re mocking me,” Dorian noted, pulling away slightly. “Not that you’re wrong - you’re absolutely right. But I think…” He sighed. “There’s so much that’s wrong with the Imperium. I just...I think - I _know_ \- I can reform it. It’ll be hard, but we can be a real part of Thedas again, without destroying our culture and history. We don’t have to live up to the stereotype of ‘evil magisters’, and we don’t have to sacrifice our culture either.”

Jasper pulled Dorian closer. “I was kind of mocking you. Just a little bit. Side effect of being kidnapped by Tevinter slavers, you know. Forgive me.” He kissed Dorian’s cheek, even as the mage harrumphed. “I’ll talk to Josie about it. Would your friend Mae want to visit? Our first dignitary?”

Dorian shook his head slowly. “I doubt she could. It’s better if she remained in Tevinter anyway, as one of the loudest voices for reform. I’m afraid others would take action against her if she were gone - but perhaps retainers of hers. Or others. See who Josephine can reach out to.”

Jasper nodded and stood up. “Of course.” He glanced at the sun in the sky, and sighed. “I’ve got to go, the meeting is any minute now, but I’ll mention it to Josephine, okay?”

Dorian followed him and nodded. “I appreciate it, _amatus_.”

Jasper leaned in to kiss Dorian again and really had to draw on quite a bit of willpower to not let himself be enraptured by the mage’s superb lips. He consoled him with squeezing Dorian’s arse as he pulled away, which made Dorian yelp adorably, a sound that Jasper swallowed in another quick kiss. Jasper grinned cheekily at him before dashing from his chambers.

The meeting was an exciting one. “My scouts have found evidence of Corypheus’ forces moving toward the Arbor Wilds in the south of Orlais,” Leliana revealed, a little more life to her tone than usual. “I am awaiting more details.”

Morrigan shifted uneasily beside Jasper. “Curious. I wonder what secrets he is looking to unearth in that forgotten part of the world.”

There was some debate, some conjecture, which Jasper was uninterested in. If they didn’t know for sure what he could be looking for, then Jasper didn’t care to speculate. They would simply have to stop him. He tapped his foot uneasily, contributing comment when prompted, but just wanted the meeting to be over enough for him to bring this up.

As things wound down, Jasper interjected, “Josephine. Dorian suggested something to me today. Why don’t we ever have Tevinter dignitaries to visit Skyhold?”

Oh, he knew exactly why, but a little of Josephine’s diplomacy had rubbed off on him. The Chantry would shit itself if powerful, free mages were travelling around the rest of Thedas as honored guests. Not to mention that Tevinter “perverted” the Chantry by having their own Divine, or that they flouted the tenets of the Chant of Light by openly practicing magic, or that they actively participated in and depended on the slave trade, or their reputation for indulgence and decadence.

Cullen and Leliana looked between Jasper and Josie; Morrigan watched with polite amusement. Josephine opened her mouth, closed it, and took a moment before replying. “Well. I’m sure you know why, Jasper. I’m sure that this is Dorian’s doing, isn’t it? Which is fine, of course! However. If this is an endeavor you wish to attempt, I will try to make it happen. If I can. Not that it will be easy, and I’m sure we will receive quite the backlash - but since when has that ever stopped us? I’ll...meet with Dorian to see who he thinks would be a good option for invitation. If there’s anyone from Tevinter willing to work with us, that is.”

“Thank you, Josie, I appreciate it,” Jasper said, inclining his head slightly. That was a little less painful than he’d been expecting. “Any other business to attend?”

Leliana shook her head. “I believe that is all, Jasper.”

Jasper nodded to them all and was heading out the door when a scout came running in, panting and breathless. “Inquisitor!” he said, jumping to attention and saluting. “Pardon my intrusion but - Warden Blackwall has gone AWOL - left an urgent message for you.”

Jasper scanned it, glancing at his council. “He’s...disappeared to attend some execution in Val Royeaux? Did he mention this to any of you?”

Leliana shook her head, lips thinning with suspicion. Josephine looked shocked and a little sad, and Cullen just looked surprised, concerned. Jasper shook his head. “This doesn’t sound good. I think - I think I should go after him. Please have my mare prepared for travel.”

“Inquisitor!” Josephine called after him, concerned. “Who will be accompanying you?”

He threw his arms up as he walked backwards out the door. “Whoever’s ready to go! Ask the usual.”

He rushed out of the room, through the hall, and back to his quarters, which were empty. Dorian must have migrated to the library. Jasper slipped into his armor and strapped on his weapons, tossed some clothes into a rucksack, and was pulling his boots on when the door downstairs was thrown open and Dorian came thundering up the stairs.

“You’re not going without me,” Dorian told him sternly, heading to the wardrobe that housed his own clothes and armor.

“Oh, don’t give me that overprotective bullshit,” Jasper said acerbically as he shouldered his pack. “I’m going to Val Royeaux, for fuck’s sake. Not running into a dragon’s lair. And I never said you couldn’t come.”

“I swore to always have your back, Jasper,” Dorian insisted as he changed into battle robes, momentarily distracting Jasper with his rather lovely naked torso. “I’m not letting you run off to the back-stabbing capital of the world without me. Though that may actually be in Tevinter. Runner up, then.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I go on missions without you all the damn time. Don’t start acting like a mother hen now, it makes you look fat.”

Dorian made a sound between a laugh and an exasperated cluck. “You’re a dickhead, you know that?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of my whole thing, you know,” Jasper explained like it was obvious, gesturing around vaguely. “I’m not a nice person. Besides, Dorian, you were just in Val Royeaux, to get that stupid shipment of books. Why are you making such a big deal of this?”

Dorian had a bag packed and had reached Jasper at the top of the stairs. They walked down together, bickering all the while without any real heat. “Val Royeaux is where I’d be most scared of an assassin targeting you. Not out on the open road, or in the frozen wasteland of Sahrnia.”

“Whatever, if you’re ready to go, then let’s go,” Jasper said with exasperation as they left the main hall of Skyhold behind, heading down the stairs to the lower courtyard. A few assassins had targeted Jasper here and there throughout their travels, but he hadn’t succumbed to them yet. The notion that Dorian thought JAsper would fall to some pompous Orlesian assassin was almost insulting.

They continued toward the stables. They were where Blackwall liked to hang out when he wasn’t practicing his swordsmanship or getting a drink in the Herald’s Rest - the wood carving of a griffin sat unfinished on a table in the barn, his pet project. Jasper checked the saddlebags of his mare, which were full of bombs, potions, poisons, antidotes. He strapped his knapsack to the saddle and swung himself up fluidly.

Dorian’s horse was ready, too, and he climbed up as Cassandra and Sera appeared - the first two to be ready to go. Jasper gestured for them to hurry up, and they mounted their steeds, heading out of Skyhold at a gallop. Villagers watched them go with concern. Blackwall, however reticent, probably had the easiest time interacting with the soldiers of the Inquisition. He was the easiest to relate to, Jasper thought. He was like them, and the people knew that, and he had just left them. He was a deserter now.

They reached Val Royeaux the next day, and waiting Inquisition agents took their horses as they raced on foot through the city to the market square - which was paradoxically circular. There was a platform erected at one end, a line of shackled men standing beside it, along with two masked men - one was wearing a fancy, gilded mask and pompous clothes; the other was wearing plain black clothing and an executioner’s mask.

Jasper was shoving his way through the thick, morbid crowd all gathered to watch the execution of who Jasper could only assume was this Mornay character that Blackwall had mentioned in his note. Leliana had sent a raven in the night with all the information she had on this man, which wasn’t terribly much, just that Mornay was an Orlesian soldier and had been part of a unit of men under the orders of the captain Thom Rainier. The unit had gone rogue and massacred a family for apparently no reason, and Rainier had disappeared, though his men never spoke a word against him, never betrayed his whereabouts. Jasper’s imagination was jumping to horrifying conclusions, which he really didn’t want to acknowledge.

The man in the fancy mask read out the verdict. The crime was gruesome. An entire family, man, woman, and children, all their retainers, murdered. The punishment: hanged by the neck until dead. The man, Mornay, stood desolately on the wooden platform, staring into the negative space of the noose dangling in front of him, swaying in the light breeze. He didn’t say a thing in his defense.

Dorian clutched Jasper’s arm. “Who is this man to Blackwall that Blackwall would rush to his execution like this? A brother? A friend?”

Jasper looked around wildly. If Blackwall had left so clandestinely to witness this execution, then where was he? Why wasn’t he in the sizable crowd? Had Jasper just not seen him, even though all his senses were on red-alert?

“Does Blackwall want to recruit this man?” Cassandra guessed, confusion in her features. “For the Grey Wardens? Is now really the time?”

Jasper watched sadly as the noose was slipped around the man’s neck. He’d never been one to enjoy watching public executions, unlike all these bored nobles and sick civilians. It was disgusting. And yet, was allowing a murderer to run loose any better? Jasper couldn’t say.

As the executioner reached for the lever that would drop the trapdoor from beneath Mornay’s feet, a familiar voice called out, “Stop!” Jasper’s eyes fell on Blackwall, pushing through the crowd to the front, climbing the steps of the platform, a cold and determined look in his eyes. The executioner and the herald were frozen in shock.

“A Grey Warden,” the herald said in disgust, as if this were not the first execution that had been interrupted by a Grey Warden. Conscription was funny like that.

Blackwall looked out at the crowd as they gasped in shock. “This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him,” he declared. “Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake!”

The herald rolled his eyes behind his mask, and Jasper was inclined to agree with him. Bad orders should be disobeyed, not blindly followed. “Then give me the man who gave the order!”

Blackwall looked out at the crowd and found Jasper’s eyes. His face was sad, determined, resigned. “Oh, shit,” Jasper muttered, realization dawning upon him. He started to push forward through the crowd. “Blackwall!”

“No,” Blackwall said, voice heavy and dripping with self-loathing. “I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am.”

Mornay gasped. “You...after all this time…”

“It’s over,” Blackwall announced gravely. “I’m done hiding. I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.”

Jasper’s jaw dropped at Blackwall’s pronouncement. Promptly, guards swarmed the platform and arrested him, and he did not resist, not even a little. His head hung sadly as he was removed from the platform. Mornay was released. The crowd gasped and tittered and slowly dispersed, once it became clear that there would be no hanging today. A trial, unfortunately for them, had to come first.

It was near impossible to get into the prison where Blackwall was being held. The guards wouldn’t budge, not even for the Inquisitor or the gold in Jasper’s pockets. Threats didn’t bother them, since they out-numbered the small party three-to-one. Good thing Jasper didn’t need conventional entrances to get places. Every prison was attached to a sewer system, which meant there was always another entrance.

Jasper had to slip in on his own, which perturbed Dorian, but there really was no getting around it. It was smelly and narrow and humid and all-around gross, but not the grossest sewer Jasper had ever crawled through. He found his way to Blackwall’s cell easily enough. The only cell currently occupied, surprisingly.

Blackwall - Thom Rainier - explained to Jasper how he hadn’t killed the real Warden Blackwall, in case that was what he suspected. They’d been ambushed by darkspawn after the real Warden Blackwall had picked Rainier for the joining ritual. Rainier fought off the darkspawn, but Blackwall was mortally wounded. Rainier “traded” his life for Blackwall’s, in the altruistic hope of preserving his legacy so the world would not lose another good man. And in the process, he left his men behind to deal with the fallout of his bad decisions.

Jasper shook his head, lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know what to say. Rainier.”

Rainier flinched like he’d been slapped. “This is what I am. I’m a murderer. A monster.”

But hadn’t Jasper killed people for his own gain? Maybe not children, maybe not entirely innocent people...but… “Why? Why would you kill them? Money? Honor?”

Rainier sighed heavily. “Cowardice. An ally of Gaspard’s came to me, ordered me to kill Lord Callier, who was an ally of Celene’s. I believed in Gaspard’s cause. I took the order. I didn’t tell my men they were killing an innocent man, a man whose only crime was backing the wrong horse. They were travelling. I found out his family was with him. I could’ve called off the attack - I had the time. I didn’t. When it came to light, Gaspard disavowed our actions, his ally killed himself. I ran. My men took the fall.”

Jasper didn’t know what to say. He took a step back from the cell, toward the sewer where he’d crawled up from. This was entirely out of Jasper’s league. He honestly couldn’t believe he’d fought side-by-side with this man for so long, not knowing the truth. Utterly submerged in lies.

Rainier said nothing as Jasper left. Jasper rejoined his companions at the other end of the sewer, and all he said was that he needed a bath. Both to wash away the stink of the sewer, and to wash away the gross feeling that prickled along his skin as he thought of Thom Rainier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look it's my story and i can give blood kinks to whoever i want so sue me. just wait til I start posting my AU.
> 
> oh also pls don't use saliva as lube. bad idea. BUT it's my story so i'm pretending it's fine.


	27. The Fucking Delegates

The ride back to Skyhold was solemn and quiet. No one was happy with what had happened. No one really knew what to think or believe of their companion. Jasper was already cringing at what a mess this was going to be to deal with. How would it look if they sprung him from prison and brought him back to Skyhold? He was still their companion, even if he was a liar and a murderer, particularly one who had _others_ do his dirty work and take the fall. But Jasper was a staunch believer in second chances, even if it did sometimes make his stomach roil unhappily. After all, he was probably the biggest second chance that ever existed.

Josephine pulled her political strings to get Rainier extradited to Skyhold, per Jasper’s hesitant request. Jasper didn’t want him rotting in a prison cell. Nor did he think execution by the Orlesians, who gambled people’s lives constantly and with little care, was just. Jasper already had his judgment prepared when Rainier was brought before the throne in the main hall of Skyhold. The guards who brought Rainier into the hall did so rather hesitantly, as if self-conscious of being the ones to escort the defamed companion of the Inquisitor in for judgment. Like they might catch the betrayal bug.

Rainier himself was hunched over, head hanging, feet dragging with shame as he approached Jasper for judgment. His hair was askew. Jasper was sitting uncomfortably on the stone throne, legs spread, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. He jiggled one of his legs nervously, biting the skin around his nails. He stopped abruptly and froze as he watched Rainier being escorted toward him. He was quiet as he watched Rainier, who now stood alone and dejected on the rich rug, his gaze directed at his boots.

“Look at me,” Jasper commanded the prisoner after a long silence. He tried not to sound too irritated; he’d abstained from drink or drug for weeks now, hadn’t touched any of his usual vices since the Winter Palace. Still, Jasper’s voice reverberated through the hall like a glass shattering. Reluctantly, Rainier lifted his head, his face drawn with regret. His deep brown eyes were sad, dark bruises under his eyes and some resentment in his eyes. Jasper cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“You should’ve left me to rot in that prison,” Rainier told him dejectedly after a long, quiet moment. “I don’t deserve this. Not after what I’ve done.”

Jasper took a deep, steadying breath. “You are an important member of the Inquisition, Rainier. You owe it to us to see this through to the end. After this is over, if you survive, you’ll go to the Grey Wardens. They can pass proper judgment on you.”

Rainier sighed as if this judgment pained him. “If that is what you wish, Inquisitor.”

Jasper nodded and rose to his feet as a guard walked forward and unlocked the shackles around Rainier’s wrists. Rainier glanced once more at Jasper, who stood above him with the barest confidence, and then walked out of the hall without another backwards look. Those who were gathered for the judgment broke into smaller groups to gossip amongst themselves. Jasper knew some of them would think him some sort of...cronyistic tyrant, or else perhaps a sentimental fool. He didn’t know which was worse. He withdrew quickly, hiding in the war room with vain hope that no one would come looking for him there. He did have relative peace as he half-heartedly reviewed notes and reports, until Dorian entered, face grim.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he said softly as he approached Jasper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jasper let him, his defenses crumbling under the attention of his love. “How are you holding up?”

Jasper turned to face him, suddenly so unbearably weary, shoulders drooping as if the weight of the world had fallen upon them suddenly. It was easy to ignore, sometimes. But passing judgment on his own friends...or at least someone who had claimed to be his friend. That reminded Jasper just how out of his depth he truly was. After all, he was just...a thug. A prostitute. A traitor, himself.

He leaned into Dorian’s touch as it all nearly overwhelmed him. “Dorian, I’m so fucking tired. I...this is all so much. I just want it to be done already, you know?” Jasper cut off as his eyes burned and his voice caught on the lump in his throat. He swallowed thickly, trying not to cry.

“It’s okay,” Dorian whispered into his hair, kissing his temple. “You did the right thing.”

“Did I?” Jasper asked incredulously. “Is there such a thing as ‘ _the right thing_ ’ anymore? What if those among the nobility that oppose us use this as a rallying point to show everyone how corrupt the Inquisition is? What if Blackwall pussies out and runs? Did I really make the right choice, Dorian?”

Dorian pulled Jasper into a firm hug. “You made the best decision you could make, considering. There will always be those who try to question you and try to make you stumble - but you’re strong, Jasper. The strongest man I know. I think you did the most honorable thing possible, considering the circumstances. Have faith in yourself, _amatus_.”

Jasper sighed, wrapping his arms around Dorian and leaning into him. “You have faith in me. That’s close enough.”

Dorian snorted, hands rubbing a circle in Jasper’s back. “You’re insufferable, sometimes, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Jasper said, nuzzling into Dorian’s embrace. “Maker, I never want to let you go, Dorian.”

Dorian kissed the top of his head. “I love you, amatus.”

Jasper reveled in the sound of those words on Dorian’s exquisite lips. His reply was a sigh. “I love you, too. Good luck getting rid of me now.”

Dorian chuckled and loosened his embrace, dropping a hand to grasp Jasper’s. “Come, _amatus_. The Tevinter dignitaries arrived earlier. They witnessed your judgment - don’t let that intimidate you. I think you did a very good job of impressing them.”

Jasper perked up. “Have you met them yet?”

Dorian shook his head. “Saw them from a distance. No one I recognize, but I was hardly involved in politics when I left. I’m sure I’m probably related to them, somehow, if they’re Tevinter nobility. Come, let’s join them for dinner, hm? Show them that the Inquisition isn’t all dire sentencing and depressing court-proceedings.”

Jasper let him lead him back into the hall, which now only contained Jasper’s inner circle milling about, along with visiting dignitaries from Orzammar, Orlais, Ferelden, and now Tevinter. The Fereldans and Orlesians noticeably avoided the ‘Vints, but the dwarves seemed to have no issues conversing with and greeting the Tevinter dignitaries. Josephine was busy chatting with them until Jasper could grace them with his much-anticipated presence.

“Tevinter has very strong ties with the dwarves of Orzammar,” Dorian informed Jasper in an undertone as they approached. “In fact, my very good friend Maevaris, back home, was married to Varric’s cousin for a while. He was murdered by political opponents in order to get to her - shame, really. He was a wonderful fellow. They were truly in love, I think.”

“Oh, political murder?” Jasper muttered with dark amusement, trying not to focus on the sad note in Dorian’s voice. “Just a regular Tuesday in the Imperium, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be rude,” Dorian hissed back, but his lips had quirked into a small smile. “Here we are.”

Jasper approached the group of mages, dressed in flashy, ostentatious robes, though none were dressed _quite_ like Dorian. Dorian’s hand slipped from Jasper’s as he reached them, and Jasper missed the contact desperately. He’d thought they were past this hang-up on PDA, but then again, these were Dorian’s countrymen; it had been a long time since he’d had to interact with them, so Jasper couldn’t fault him for his caution. Who knew what rumors they’d heard or made up about Dorian?

The cold, calculative eyes of the ‘Vints - no different than Orlesian nobles, really - fell on Jasper, raking up and down his lithe elven form. Assessing him. No doubt a surprise to have the rumors confirmed - the Herald of Andraste, the fearsome Inquisitor, was an _elf_ after all. That must’ve been quite the shock to them, though it wasn’t like he was exactly accepted by the prejudice-filled Orlesians either, due to his race.

Jasper did not shrink under their sharp, calculative gazes. He stood taller, even, meeting their appraising stares head-on, and offered a lopsided smile. He stuck his hand out to them, rings glinting on his thin fingers, reflecting the light of Andraste’s braziers throughout the chamber. “Inquisitor Lavellan, at your service. Thank you for taking the time to visit us. We’re honored to have you here.”

One of the Tevinter delegates, an older man with a shaved head and long beard, smiled graciously at Jasper and shook his hand, murmuring about how the honor was all his. Jasper shook hands all around, to Josephine’s approving nod. She had trained him well. He was about to invite them to dinner, following the script and routine Josephine had dutifully ingrained in him, when one of the visiting mages stepped forward, a confused look on his face. But he wasn’t looking at Jasper.

“Dorian?” the man asked, shocked, eyes wide. He was tall, taller than Dorian, even, putting him at well over six feet. He towered over Jasper. He had golden brown hair that was combed neatly back in contained, soft waves. His face was chiseled marble, pale and perfect, his lips rosy and quirked into a smile as recognition glinted in his cerulean eyes. “Dorian! It _is_ you! I’d heard you’d left Tevinter, but I never would’ve guessed you’d be _here_...”

Dorian seemed shocked and confused, and his mouth fell open until it dawned upon him that this was...an old friend of Dorian’s, apparently. Dorian’s eyes widened with recognition and a smile spread over his lips. “Cato! What a bizarre twist of fate. I - I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Or ever, really.”

This man, Cato, smiled good-naturedly and adjusted the spectacles he wore that made him look ever so scholarly and mature. He must’ve been in his mid-thirties, a few years older than Dorian, several years older than Jasper. Jasper looked between them as Cato pulled Dorian into a big hug that Dorian returned eagerly after his initial hesitation, with much back-clapping. Very manly. Jasper shared a look with Josephine, who looked just as confused as he did. Not that Jasper should be surprised, really, since Dorian was an altus, after all, and was well-known in the Circles of Tevinter and among the higher echelons of the society, even if he had refrained from politics and had focused on academics instead. Not to mention his colorful youth, which must’ve been quite the scandal.

Dorian looked up at Cato, hands resting on his arms as he studied him. “What are you doing here, Cato?”

Cato gestured to the men beside him. “We’re the delegation here on behalf of Magister Tilani. She’s my sponsor at the Circle, you know, funding my ongoing research on the application of entropy magic from a medical perspective. The implications so far are promising - but I’m getting away from myself, aren’t I? I was more than eager to go on this trip when Magister Tilani asked. I don’t remember the last time I left Tevinter, honestly.”

Jasper fought the urge to thread his arm around Dorian’s waist possessively. This man was...just being nice. That wasn’t a crime. Jasper was sure the way he was eyeing Dorian was nothing more than the way an old friend does after they haven’t seen you in such a long time. Not that Jasper would know. His old friends would want him dead, after what he’d done.

“Friend of yours?” Jasper asked Dorian, keeping his easy-going smile in place. The pleasant, unaffected tone of voice was a bit of a struggle to maintain, but no one seemed to notice anything unnatural.

Dorian seemed to stir from a stupor of memory, the nostalgic smile on his face slipping slightly. “Ah - yes. Jasper, this is my old friend and colleague, Cato Avitus. We studied in the Circle together for some time. Cato, you’ve already met the Inquisitor, of course.”

Jasper shook his extended hand again, eyeing him appreciatively. In a scientific way, of course. Quite frankly, he was hot. Well-built - he definitely kept in shape. His smile was easy and charming, and his eyes seemed to twinkle behind his glasses. He had an ease in his posture that spoke of deep pools of confidence, of having never questioned his right to exist or to be. Of course, he lacked all the noxious charm of Dorian - the dark humor, the brooding, the biting wit, the flashy clothes. He was more...minimalist and light, in comparison.

When they sat down to dinner a few minutes later, Cato took a seat between Dorian and Jasper. As the meal progressed, Jasper felt nervous. He’d never really questioned Dorian’s fidelity, even with the mysterious gifts Dorian had received. He knew Dorian wasn’t one to stray. And he’d never been particularly jealous of the attention Dorian received from hungry nobles and dignitaries or from servants and soldiers. It was a side effect of being devastatingly gorgeous, of course, and Dorian was definitely that. And Dorian was also the fiercely loyal type, so Jasper trusted him. But this mage that Dorian had a past with...He set Jasper’s teeth on edge, especially since he seemed to find every excuse to touch Dorian’s arm or hand throughout the meal. Jasper didn’t eat much, but he drank plenty.

After dinner was Josephine’s insistent suggestion to take the dignitaries on a tour of the grounds, specifically the lovely garden courtyard that had been cultivated to rival the gardens of the Orlesian chateaus. No hedge maze, of course, but delightful rose bushes, dozens of medicinal herbs, yarrow, echinacea, juniper - all manicured in perfect constellations throughout the courtyard. Tomorrow, they would have a proper tour of Skyhold in the light of day.

Jasper and Josephine walked side by side while the delegation followed behind, Cato and Dorian catching up in quieter tones - things that they hadn’t wanted to discuss at dinner? Jasper shook his head, trying to shake those thoughts away - he was getting way too far ahead of himself, jumping to conclusions, assuming the very worst. He had absolutely no reason to be suspicious, except for his impeccable instincts, and the nagging voice in his head that insisted all ‘Vints were evil, with the exception of Dorian.

Josephine kept up a lively conversation with the delegates as they strolled the torch-lit paths, keeping things casual as Jasper receded into himself, watching Dorian worriedly out of the corner of his eye. Cato said something that made Dorian laugh, a full, rich laugh. The others didn’t seem to notice or mind, but Jasper was gnawing his lip, letting himself drift away from the front of the group, until he was closer to Dorian and Cato, close enough to eavesdrop, but hopefully they wouldn’t notice that.

“...been so long, I can’t believe you’ve grown a mustache,” Cato was saying, smiling. “I did not think that would be the sort of thing you’d go for. You pull it off well, though. It makes you look dashing and sauve.”

Jasper felt crestfallen when he saw a blush creeping across Dorian’s dark cheeks as he smiled. “Thank you. Less people look at me as the wicked Tevinter, these days, being with the Inquisition. It’s also an active lifestyle, running around Thedas hunting demons and rogue templars and Venatori. But what’s your secret? You look good, Cato.”

There was an alarm going off in Jasper’s brain that he was trying to ignore. Was Dorian _flirting back_? Or was this just normal chit-chat? Jasper just couldn’t tell, clouded by his stupid jealousy and concern, and he felt stupid and like he was overreacting but was also afraid that maybe he _should_ do something. But what? He didn’t want to embarrass Dorian, he didn’t want to seem weird and possessive, he didn’t want to embarrass _himself_. He’d never thought this hard about how he acted around Dorian; it was usually so natural, he didn’t really consider the way they held hands often and brushed against each other and revolved around each other like planets in orbit. So Jasper did nothing except continue to covertly listen in on their conversation.

The tour came to an end slowly, excruciatingly so. Jasper bid goodnight to all the delegates, even Cato, who shook his hand again, warmly and with a guileless smile. Had he not heard the prolific and very factual rumors of Jasper and Dorian being an item? More importantly, did he care? Jasper just tried his best to not appear resentful while he puzzled this out.

A servant was summoned to lead the ‘Vints to their chambers, and Cato winked at Dorian before they turned a corner, leaving Jasper and Dorian in the upper courtyard, alone. The second that the group was gone, Jasper turned on Dorian, hands on his hips.

“What’s that look for?” Dorian asked, blinking in confusion. “Did I do something?”

Jasper rolled his eyes and fought the urge to smack Dorian. It wasn’t easy. “Come on, you know what’s fucking bothering me.”

Dorian scoffed with an eyeroll of his own. “You’re so temperamental and immature sometimes, Jasper, how am I _ever_ supposed to keep up with the ever-evolving list of things that bother you?”

Jasper glanced away, a hurt expression on his face. Dorian sighed and reached for him, grasping his hand and pulling him up the stairs back into the main hall, fingers interlocked. Jasper let him, although grudgingly, and only because he hadn’t detected any sincere irritation in Dorian’s statement. Just exasperation. But it still bothered him, and he pouted at Dorian’s back.

“Don’t get pouty, Jasper,” Dorian sighed without looking back at Jasper, which pissed Jasper off. “You know I can’t resist your puppy-eyes. Perhaps I misspoke. ‘Immature’ was not the right word. But I can’t read your mind, and you know it, so stop expecting me to be able to tell what’s bothering you this time.”

Jasper huffed. “I know. Sorry. I just...come on, let’s talk in my chambers,” he said, glancing around at lingering nobles hoping to catch a bit of gossip. He pulled Dorian along the hall and up the stairs of his chamber, the door shutting behind them. At the top of the stairs, Jasper stopped, looking up at Dorian, meeting his silvery eyes, glinting in the dim light of the single lit torch and the moonlight. Jasper reached for Dorian’s other hand, too, so he was holding both of them.

“Would you have held my hand like this in front of...that delegation?” Jasper asked, pausing when his mouth wanted to say _Cato_. Maybe he ought not to reveal just how jealous he really felt. Dorian didn’t like it when Jasper got that way.

Dorian sighed softly and smiled gently at Jasper, leaning in so their noses brushed and Jasper could feel his warm breath fanning over his face. It made Jasper shiver. “Is that what this is about? PDA? Jasper, I adore you to teeny, tiny bits and pieces, and you know that. I would hold your hand in front of anyone if you really wanted me to. Why? Did you feel...nervous, being around so many ‘Vints again?”

Jasper didn’t want to tell him the truth, which was that he was really just a petty little bitch who was jealous for no good reason. Cato wasn’t the one boning Dorian, after all, so it was irrational for Jasper to be jealous. Cato wasn’t the one who got to smell Dorian’s lemongrass and sandalwood scented skin every day and all night. He didn’t get to watch Dorian wake up and stretch sleepily, or hear that sleep-roughened voice when he woke Jasper from a nightmare and cuddled him close. He didn’t get to fall asleep to the beat of Dorian’s heart, he didn’t get to wear Dorian’s tunics as a nightshirt on cold nights, he didn’t get to toy with Dorian’s hair and mustache, or kiss the plethora of beauty marks dotting Dorian’s dark skin. He didn’t get to hold hands with him like this. So there was really absolutely no reason to be jealous. But the nagging sense that maybe Cato had done those things before...well, they were making Jasper nervous.

Jasper let go of Dorian’s hands and headed further into the room, tugging his nice, stately shirt off by the hem, inverting it as he pulled it off and tossed it aside. He pretended to act unbothered as he asked, “What about Cato? How do you two know each other?”

Dorian didn’t seem bothered or surprised by the question, so Jasper seemed to be doing a good job of concealing his true emotions right now. Dorian followed after Jasper, kicking his boots off and leaving them near the stairs. “We were at the Circle of Minrathous together a few years ago. Before I met Alexius and Felix. We collaborated on many topics, learned together, bounced theories off each other. Academically, we were very well-matched. We...had a physically intimate relationship, I won’t hide that from you.”

Jasper froze. There was the confirmation of all his worries. Dorian came up behind him and placed his hands gently on Jasper’s arms, kissing the back of his neck with his warm, soft, perfect lips. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Jasper asked capriciously, his pent-up emotion clearly audible in his voice.

“I didn’t want to make things awkward,” Dorian sighed, arms looping around Jasper and pulling him tighter against his body. He continued to pepper kisses over Jasper’s neck and bare shoulders “Suddenly announcing during dinner, ‘Oh, by the way, dearest Inquisitor, Cato and I used to fuck’ - it’s a bit of a faux-pas. Jasper, you have nothing to worry about. I love _you_. I am dedicated to _you_. There’s no reason to be worried.”

Jasper rested his head back against Dorian’s chest. “I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

Dorian nuzzled Jasper’s shoulder where it met his neck, his hands wandering lower. “This was out of jealousy, wasn’t it?” He spoke matter-of-factly, not accusing Jasper, but Jasper knew Dorian wasn’t pleased.

Jasper groaned and shut his eyes, partly out of annoyance of being called out, partly because Dorian’s hands were delving beneath the waistline of his trousers now, even if he may have been a tad ticked off with the elf. “I’m not jealous.”

Dorian’s laugh rumbled through Jasper. “Of course. And I’m the Empress of Orlais.”

“Don’t be a jerk about it,” Jasper complained. “You get jealous all the time. Like when I was talking with Fairbanks - “

“That’s different,” Dorian insisted. “You were flirting with him. I wasn’t flirting tonight. I was just chatting with Cato.”

Jasper scowled, trying to ignore the kisses Dorian was peppering across his shoulders. “I can’t help it. You know that.”

“Which: the flirting, or the jealousy?” Dorian asked, turning Jasper around and walking him backwards toward the unmade bed.

Jasper sighed as Dorian pushed Jasper onto the bed and pulled the elf’s trousers off, then stood above him, admiring his lover’s lithe body. “Both,” Jasper replied breathlessly, watching Dorian kneel before him on the floor. Jasper was excited and propped himself up on his elbows to maintain eye contact. Dorian didn’t give head often, a sensibility from Tevinter of it being a prostitute’s work; but Maker, was he good at it.

Dorian’s hand was hot on Jasper’s thigh. “Jasper, you know I would never hurt you like that - by cheating, I mean. Even if...even if we drift apart, or we fall out of love, or whatever. I would never put you through that pain.”

Jasper licked his lips, Dorian’s words easing his fear just a little, but Jasper couldn’t really focus on that right now. “I know. I’m being irrational. What else is new? Now get a move on, it’s not gonna suck itself.”

Dorian chuckled and leaned forward to run his tongue down the length of Jasper’s cock, making him moan quietly. “I trust you, Jasper. Do you trust me?”

Jasper didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely. It’s the others I don’t trust. You’re really fucking hot, Dorian, in case you didn’t know, and I catch so many people checking you out when they think I’m not looking. Even when they _know_ we’re together. And it’s hard to not let it get to me all the time. It’s part of why I like our public displays of affection. That, and to shock those who think it’s not right for me to be involved with a ‘Vint, or who think it’s debauched to be with a man, or for two species to mix like this.”

“‘Shocking’ _is_ your default, isn’t it?” Dorian remarked before slowly taking Jasper’s member into his mouth. Jasper gasped and writhed as Dorian’s hot mouth enveloped his achingly hard cock. His hands gripped Dorian’s perfect hair in his hands, his thighs clenched around Dorian’s head as the mage bobbed up and down, sucking and licking, one hand playing with Jasper’s balls. Jasper whined and keened quietly as Dorian flicked his tongue against Jasper’s dick piercing. Jasper bucked into his mouth, making Dorian gag and squeeze Jasper’s balls tightly.

“Ah, fuck, _Dorian_ ,” Jasper moaned wantonly, clutching the sheets underneath him with one hand. The other hand was burying itself in Dorian’s perfectly coiffed hair, messing it up. Jasper urged him to continue, murmuring words of encouragement even though Dorian knew just how good he was at this. “Mm, Dorian, that feels so good. Ngh!”

Dorian wrapped his hand around the end of Jasper’s shaft that he didn’t have in his mouth. He stroked while simultaneously sucking, making the most debauched slurping sounds. One of his fingers on his other hand danced around Jasper’s entrance, making him gasp and spew out a chain of incomprehensible curses and pleas.

“D-Dorian,” he whimpered. “I’m so close, _vhenan_ , so close.”

Dorian took his hand away so he could deepthroat Jasper, taking him as far as he could, trying not to choke, but his throat was spasming despite his best efforts. With a cry of ecstasy, Jasper came, clutching Dorian’s curls in his fingers. He let go so Dorian could pull back and he flopped backwards onto the bed, panting heavily, stars dancing in his vision.

Jasper propped himself on his elbows and watched Dorian wipe away a dribble of come leaking out of the corner of his mouth, and then reached out to pull him up by the collar. “I’m not being possessive, or anything, my darling, but I would rather delight in covering you head-to-toe in love-bites. Just in case anyone gets any _ideas_.”

Dorian hummed his approval, crawling on top of Jasper. “Only if I can do the same to you, _amatus_.”

Jasper looped his arms around Dorian’s neck. “Do your worst.”

***  
“Stop trying to cover up your hickeys!” Jasper chastised, grabbing a stick of concealer out of Dorian’s hand. Dorian sat before the vanity in Jasper’s quarters, eyeing his reflection calculatively. Purple bruises dotted his neck and the one shoulder left bare by his ridiculous robes. “The whole point is that they’re supposed to be _seen_.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and took the concealer back, eyeing the matching bruises along Jasper’s neck and jaw, which were _very_ visible, livid against Jasper’s pale skin. “I don’t want to hear people gossiping about how you’re trying to eat me alive. Well, actually, yes I do. But they don’t need to know _exactly_ what we’re getting up to behind closed doors, I mean.”

Jasper snickered as he buttoned his shirt. “You’re so cute, Dori.”

“Don’t start with that silly nickname,” Dorian retorted, setting aside the concealer and standing up to tower over Jasper. “It’s too early in the morning to be doling out punishments.”

Jasper’s grin widened as he looked up at Dorian, batting his long eyelashes. “Oh, no, and I would _never_ want that, Maker forbid.”

Dorian sighed, his breath rustling Jasper’s curls, and pinched Jasper’s chin in his hand. “Don’t tempt me, _amatus_.” He pressed a quick kiss to Jasper’s lips, but pulled away before Jasper could reel him in. “We’re missing breakfast.”

Jasper pouted but grabbed Dorian’s hand, linking their fingers together, and led him down the stairs and out the door, wondering if Dorian would slide his hand out of Jasper’s or not. So far, so good, but Jasper wondered if that would last all the way to the long banquet table where breakfast was being served, the Tevinter dignitaries sitting at it already. He tried not to look at Dorian, afraid to see any sort of conflict there, as if Dorian felt he needed to choose between appearing the upstanding Tevinter altus, or being Jasper’s lover. Those two ideas could coexist, but Dorian couldn’t see it. Not yet.

Dorian’s hand slid slowly out of Jasper’s, and Jasper really, ardently tried to ignore the pang of hurt that flared in his heart. He’d be damned if he would let this stop him from showing his affection freely; especially since they _must_ know about Dorian’s involvement with Jasper. It had to be the juiciest scandal in Tevinter! An elf and an altus, the Inquisitor and the son of a magister. And they’d just witnessed Jasper and Dorian leaving Jasper’s quarters together. Jasper pulled out a chair and gestured for Dorian to sit in it, which surprised him, since neither of them had ever really done anything like that. But Dorian took the seat and offered Jasper a soft smile.

After all, there were other ways Jasper could broadcast their relationship without having to make a formal announcement or by doing really obvious relationship-y things (like hand-holding).

Jasper sat down beside Dorian, the gorgeous bespectacled man sitting across from them. Cato. He eyed them both rather carefully, and Jasper couldn’t help but let his fingers linger on Dorian’s when Dorian passed him the butter dish.

“I’m excited for the tour today,” Cato remarked with a dashing smile. “Such marvelous architecture and stunning views.”

“The best views are in my quarters,” Jasper said with a waggle of his eyebrows and a smirk as he speared a square of cold ham on the end of his fork. Dorian concealed his snort with a cough, nearly choking on his toast and marmalade. Jasper couldn’t help the flirtation; it was just _too_ easy. Dorian slid his hand over Jasper’s thigh under the table and gave it a surreptitious squeeze. Jasper’s grin widened.

Jasper didn’t have to go on the tour, technically, and he usually never did, hating the humdrum boring conversation with the visitors, hating how he had to act respectable and polite and all that tosh. It made him want to drill into his brain until all that gray matter was just mush. As usual, he did not plan on joining them, no matter how charming they were or how badly Josephine wanted him to _try_ to be the beloved figurehead. She’d make up a _really_ good excuse for it, he was sure.

But Dorian was going. Not surprising. These folks were his countrymen, and moreso, they were the representatives of his friend Maevaris, who was quietly spreading the good name of the Inquisition in Tevinter and trying to rally support for them.

Jasper considered, for a moment, joining the group. He really had nothing better going on at that moment. He was sure he could find something, though. Maybe baking cookies with Sera. His weapons didn’t really need sharpening, and he wasn’t really sure what else to do. He stood from the table, very nearly making the impulsive choice to join the tour, when Dagna emerged from the underforge, making a beeline for Jasper.

“Inquisitor!” she greeted excitedly. “Are you done? I don’t mean to interrupt you, of course, but I have exciting news!”

Jasper glanced over at her. “Oh? Is that so?” He put his hand on her shoulder and steered her away from the table, away from the prying ears of the nobles and the curious ‘Vints at the table, back to the underforge. “Sorry,” he said to her when the heavy door had shut behind them. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Right!” she said cheerily, not put off at all. “Well, I’ve been fiddling around with those neat tools you got from that shrine - reverse engineering and all - and I think I’ve uncovered the secret of Samson’s armor, and therefore how to nullify it!”

Jasper clapped his hands. “Finally, some good fucking news. Amazing. Please tell me it’s easy.”

She beamed at his enthusiasm. “You bet it is! Well, kind of.” She picked up a glowing red runestone and held it so it caught the light. Jasper eyed it warily. “This bad boy will cancel the power of his armor, and therefore make it easier to defeat him. It’ll just be like he’s a normal, lyrium-hopped templar in normal armor. Still pretty hard to fight, I guess, but that’s why you’re going and I’m not.”

Jasper took the rune and examined it. It shimmered in the light. “That’s it? What do I do with this, then?”

Dagna rubbed the back of her neck. “You just have to get close enough to him for it to activate. I know, easier said than done, but this is the best, most stable option I could think of.”

Jasper turned it over in his hand like a magic coin. “No, this is good. This is great. This is better than I could’ve asked for, to be honest. And you also just saved me from having to join the tour with the dignitaries, so I am very delighted.”

“Now you just need Samson,” Dagna said with a shrug.

Jasper sighed. “Right you are. Leliana’s working on it, of course.”

“Of course,” Dagna said, then glanced at her work bench and other unfinished projects. “Well, not that I don’t love spending time with you, Inquisitor, but I don’t think you’ll be much help with the elemental arcane theory for - “

Jasper waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I get the point. I’ll leave you to it, Dagna. Thank you, again. So glad Leliana got ahold of you. Best arcanist ever!” Then he dashed out the door, rune in hand, heading up to Cullen’s office to show him.

Cullen was delighted, of course, but once again, the issue remained: Where were they, aside from some vague idea of them heading south? Where was Samson? Where was Corypheus? Where was his army of red templars and Venatori?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry for my sporadic updates and all, i had a bit of writer's block and then life has been ✨~shitastic~✨:))) anyway. i miss interacting with y'all!!! give me comments and love!!! feedback and suggestions!!! AU ideas!!:)
> 
> also i have finished writing the rest of this fic, which has also delayed posting, but now i'll hopefully be able to be more consistent with the rest of the updates. we're like 85% of the way there!! ahh!! so scary. but that doesn't include the epilogue of course of trespasser, which idk how i'll write it yet.
> 
> anyway!! if i (theoretically) wrote a demon!jasper AU, would yall want that to be a modern setting or traditional dragon age setting. bc i'm on the fence. they both have their pros and cons. traditional dragon age setting would still contain the taboos of blood magic and all that, but the modern au would not have widespread magic. i'm leaning toward modern bc i want it to be a little more light than i think the traditional setting would allow.
> 
> also little known fact i don’t actually like writing smut. i mean i like it but i feel like i’m bad at it 🙈 so i always put it off as long as i can and then i don’t proofread it so i’m sorry. esp bc i am not a gay man or like a queer person w a peen so lmao ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever ig


	28. Morrigan is the Fucking Best I Can't Wait To Write Her More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry i meant to post this last night but then i got not sober in the middle of editing lmao idk why i always think i'll be able to edit high i'm never able to!!! silly me. enjoy.

Dorian really rather enjoyed the tour. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being around his own countrymen. He liked working side-by-side with Josephine, too; the woman was smart and funny, but so perfectly polite in the current company, even if Dorian was less so. It had absolutely nothing to do with the attention Cato was paying him, because Dorian was not interested in him, and because Dorian was a loyal man and had a lover already.

Well...at least the last bit was true. He couldn’t deny that Cato was still devastatingly handsome after all these years. Not that Dorian would entertain any of it. He wasn’t interested in seeking out anything with Cato, period.

It didn’t help that Cato kept wandering down memory lane with him, reminding him of the time in the Minrathous Circle that he and Dorian nearly got caught in a broom cupboard, tangled together. Dorian was trying _hard_ not to recall it in vivid detail. He remembered that. It was a few weeks before they _had_ been caught together, and Cato had been sent away, and then Dorian had gone on a bender and met Alexius. And then things had been okay for a little while. He kept putting off the engagement to his Maker-awful fiancee, until his parents finally went behind his back and took care of it. And then everything really went to shit.

But it had brought him here. That’s what he told himself every day, whenever the nightmares of his past resurfaced in the Fade, or when he missed Tevinter, or when he was consumed by resentment toward his father, his family, his people. Whatever had happened to him had to be for the good, because without it he would not be who he was, he would not be in Skyhold, he would not be with Jasper. Even if he had ended up in the Inquisition, Jasper might not have loved a different Dorian. If Dorian hadn’t gone through what he’d gone through. It was what it was, at the end of the day.

“You’re _still_ so introspective,” Cato remarked, amused, as they took a turn about the small marketplace in the lower courtyard. “Not much has changed, hm?”

“I think you mean _broody_ ,” Dorian corrected. “‘Introspective’ has too much of a positive connotation.”

Cato chuckled. “Always with the biting, self-deprecating wit. At least _that’s_ remained the same.”

“And you’re still infuriatingly even-tempered and charming,” Dorian said with a disdainful sniff. “The Magisterium won’t know what hit them when you take your father’s place.”

“My father will hold onto that position as long as he can,” Cato replied with a shrug. “I’m in no rush, anyway.”

“Really? I seem to remember you having a bit more ambition than that,” Dorian remarked with a raised eyebrow.

Cato snorted, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Yeah, when it came to academics. I’ve no interest in politics, really. I like doing research, in all honesty. All that theoretical nonsense? I _live_ for it. It’s like puzzles that you don’t even know exist, waiting to be solved.”

Dorian eyed Cato, eyes squinted against the bright mid-morning sun as they climbed the stone steps to the battlements, trailing behind Josephine and the other dignitaries. Dorian had been like that: all academics, no interest in politics or changing the world. But recently...well, something was changing.

“I do miss the Circles of Tevinter,” Dorian admitted. “The south is...well...not nearly as advanced, of course. But we already knew that.”

“Honestly, Dorian, I don’t get why you’re here,” Cato said with an open sort of frankness. “Like, yes, I understand wanting to help the Inquisition. But you could do that from Tevinter. In fact, you probably could be of more use back home. I mean, sure you stopped Alexius from his evil plot - that did rather require you leaving, didn’t it? But you could come back now. Why do you stay here?”

Oh, boy. Here it was. Dorian was _sure_ Cato knew the rumors - everyone in Tevinter must’ve heard them. There was no way he’d missed the possessiveness Jasper had displayed, even if it wasn’t outright growling and marking his territory. He may have even seen them leaving Jasper’s chambers together, hand in hand. And the hickeys were hard to miss, too. Maybe Cato didn’t believe it. Maybe he just wanted to hear it from Dorian - they were, technically, old friends, after all.

“I _am_ helpful here,” Dorian told him, having a sudden flashback of Jasper affirming to Dorian that the Inquisition _did_ need him. “I help with research, of course, with our Head Arcanist. But I also go into battle with Jas - with the Inquisitor. And I think it’s important that _someone_ from Tevinter is seen helping directly.”

“So it _is_ political, then,” Cato surmised, coming to a stop and glancing out over the wide, snowy expanse of mountains stretching below them. A cool breeze was raking through the ramparts, chilling Dorian and his northern sensibilities. Cato shivered and pulled his cloak closer around himself.

“What is?” Dorian asked, watching Josephine and the others continue on. She glanced briefly back at him, head cocked to the side, and Dorian waved for her to continue without them. They’d catch up.

Cato leaned against the stone parapet, waved a hand around as if to encapsulate the whole general idea of the Inquisition. He seemed a tad embarrassed, suddenly. “This.”

“Well, yes, the Inquisition does have quite a bit of political weight,” Dorian said carefully, eyeing Cato. The sun brought out the golden highlights in his hair, the wind mussing his careful hairstyle. His eyes were shuttered, though, as if he was carefully controlling every aspect of his expression. “It’s not like we’re throwing it around constantly.”

Cato rolled his eyes. “Sure. And you’re here to make sure they’re not throwing _too_ much weight in Tevinter’s favor, yes?” He winked, smiling again. As if they were sharing a joke.

Dorian’s face hardened and he folded his arms. “What are you implying?”

Cato made an exasperated noise. Then he reached forward and tucked a nonexistent, errant lock of hair back behind Dorian’s ear. His fingers were warm and soft and lingered before he pulled away again. “Don’t be daft, Dorian. It’s a bad look on you. We both know you’re the smarter one of us.”

Dorian scoffed. “That is absolutely not true.”

“In _general_ , I mean,” Cato clarified. “You’re more well-rounded than I am. I would say when it comes to magical theory and research, we’re pretty evenly matched. And perhaps I’m a little less grating on the nerves than you. But you’re so involved, in a way I never could be. I really respect that. Even if it is...kind of dicey.”

Dorian sighed and sniffled, his nose starting to run with the cold breeze whipping in their faces. “Let’s go inside, shall we? And maybe then you can speak plainly.”

Dorian turned away and started toward the guardhouse in the middle of the wall, but Cato grabbed his hand and pulled him back, pushing him up against the wall. Cato didn’t loom over him, didn’t try to box him in, but the way his hands were resting on Dorian’s hips conveyed plenty. Dorian was shocked, and stared up at Cato in surprise.

“What’re you _doing_?” Dorian hissed sharply, heart hammering in his chest. He knew he should push away Cato, but he hesitated. Maybe he was misinterpreting this?

“Come on, Dorian, I’m not blind, I see the hickeys,” Cato said with a wry laugh. “I remember giving you those, years ago. I’d be lying if I said I don’t still find you attractive. I mean, you’ve just gotten more handsome, honestly. You feel the same, right? I’m not...misinterpreting your signals, right?”

“I - “ Dorian coughed. What signals? “I’m seeing someone, Cato. I’m fairly certain you know that already, though.”

Cato rolled his eyes, leaning closer so their breath mingled. “Oh, the Inquisitor, you mean? Yeah, I think everybody knows that. Nice move. That’s how you were able to get a Tevinter delegation, yeah? If it weren’t for you bedding that elf, I doubt the Inquisition would _ever_ have invited Tevinter here. This is what I mean when I say you’re smarter than me. If I were in your place, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to convince the Inquisitor to fuck _me_ exclusively and to do favors like this for me. He’s _damn_ cute, though, and he's got a nice ass, at least, so I guess there are lots of perks, hm?”

Dorian huffed a laugh, a mirthless laugh. This was _exactly_ what he’d been afraid of, all those weeks ago when Jasper had reclaimed the Pavus birthright for him. This reaction. This assumption. “That’s what you think this is about? That I’m sleeping with Jasper for political gain? You’re wrong, Cato. I would _never_ use him like that.”

Cato blinked. “Oh, Dorian, don’t tell me. You’ve caught _feelings_ for the elf?” He rolled his eyes and pulled away slightly, but kept his hands on Dorian’s hips. “That was stupid.”

Dorian finally pushed him away, stepping away from the wall. “It’s not stupid, Cato. And it’s _not_ a political mechanism. Maybe you can’t understand how feelings work, but I - I love Jasper, and he loves me. And you are not in the picture.”

A dark look passed over Cato’s face, but quickly shifted to something aloof and disdainful. He sniffed and crossed his arms. “You know this won’t end well. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not _that_ offended that you’re rebuffing me. But you know that, well, firstly, once things are resolved in the south, you can’t stay here. You’ll be tossed into a Circle like a common prisoner. And if you return to Tevinter, you must realize that your lovely Inquisitor could never join you; he’s an elf, he’ll be snatched off the streets if he ever goes out on his own, and I doubt he’s gonna want to be chaperoned constantly. Besides, what would he do as your housewife after being the all-powerful Inquisitor?”

“Shut up,” Dorian seethed. “Our relationship, our future, has _nothing_ to do with you.” Dorian turned on his heel and stormed away, and he heard Cato’s reluctant footsteps following. They rejoined Josephine and the others in the main hall.

“Don’t be so pissed off at me,” Cato murmured, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear them. “How was I supposed to know you actually cared about _him_?”

Dorian clicked his tongue. “If you do or say anything to Jasper, I will not be so forgiving.”

Cato rolled his eyes again, so hard that they practically rolled right out of his head. “Maker, I really didn’t think you would turn out to be such a sentimental sap. Your boy is cute, but I much prefer my men with a little bit more to grab onto.” Cato’s eyes lingered on the Iron Bull walking across the courtyard below, and Dorian sighed. Jasper was walking side by side with Bull, gesticulating wildly, and Dorian guessed they must be talking strategy. That, or Jasper was telling him about last night. It really could be either thing.

Dorian watched them until they left his field of vision through the large double doors. Cato leaned his forearm on Dorian’s shoulder. “Isn’t it teatime? Southerners still do that, right? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten teatime, Dorian.”

Dorian glared up at Cato. “Typically, Ambassador Montilyet hosts that in her office. Looks like she’s getting ready for it.”

Cato pouted. “You won’t join us?”

Dorian sighed. “I’ve got some research I’ve got to do. Important Inquisition business, you know how it is.”

Cato rolled his eyes. “Very well. I’ll see you later then, won’t I?”

“Perhaps you will,” Dorian said, aloof, heading out of the hall. At the top of the stairs, he could see Iron Bull and Jasper by the training dummies, discussing something that apparently involved Jasper climbing up onto Bull’s shoulders. Curious and concerned, Dorian headed down the stairs to greet them.

“Dorian!” Jasper greeted from atop Bull’s head, his knees planted on Bull’s shoulders and his hands gripping his horns. “C’mere. I had this idea - what if, in battle, I used Bull as a springboard sort of thing? Be really helpful when we’re fighting pride demons, or a giant like that one in the Emerald Graves, remember that nasty bugger? Wouldn’t that just be the sickest move?”

“Absolutely sick,” Dorian replied with a small, terribly infatuated smile. “Simply the illest.”

Jasper rolled his eyes as Iron Bull plucked him from his back and set him down on the ground. Dorian reached for Jasper’s hand, and Jasper took it eagerly. “You’re mocking me, Pavus.”

“Perish the thought.”

“I think it’s a cool move, kid,” Iron Bull said. “Realistically, though? I don’t think it’ll be that useful.”

Jasper was delighted to have Dorian making the first-PDA-move like this, holding his hand in public and all, but he pouted at Iron Bull. “In my mind’s eye, it’s absolutely wicked. Just, like, so fucking badass.”

“For you, maybe,” Iron Bull sighed. “I don’t particularly enjoy being treated like a jungle-gym.”

Dorian started to pull Jasper away. “Fascinating talk with you, Bull, we’ll have to finish it over afternoon tea. I must steal the Inquisitor away from you, though. Important business.”

They barely got ten feet away before Morrigan tried waving them down, but Jasper drew a line across his throat with his finger, and gave a meaningful look toward Dorian, who was looking between them with amusement and concern. Morrigan rolled her eyes and let them be, though an amused smirk played over her lips.

Dorian pulled Jasper into a shadowy corner that wasn’t particularly private. “Dorian?” Jasper asked in confusion, but he was cut off as Dorian pulled him close and pressed a heated kiss to his lips. Dorian sucked on Jasper’s lower lip a little and Jasper opened his mouth with a soft moan, letting their tongues tangle and slide. Jasper wrapped his arms around Dorian’s neck, pulling him closer, running his fingers through that soft hair. Suddenly, Jasper didn’t really care that they were not particularly hidden.

Then Dorian pulled back, breathing heavily, blushing as a group of serving girls scurried past, whispering and giggling in decidedly scandalized tones. Dorian straightened his hair and ran a hand over his face, and Jasper looked at him with a devilish glint in his hazel eyes, his grin crooked. Jasper let his arms fall from around Dorian, and instead toyed with one of his buckles.

“Sorry,” Dorian said, stepping away slightly so there was a _modicum_ more of space between them. Jasper loved the blush spreading across Dorian’s dark cheeks.

“Don’t be,” Jasper purred. Then he glanced away, back toward the main hall, and he bit his lip, unease in his eyes. He shuffled his feet and took a step back, against the wall. “Unless…?”

Dorian shook his head and reached for Jasper’s hands. “No. Nothing like that. I just...wanted to kiss you. Very urgently.”

“Does this have to do with the tour, Dorian?” Jasper asked skittishly, picking at a nonexistent bit of lint on Dorian’s robes. “With your ‘Vint friends?”

“Well...sort of,” Dorian admitted. “Nothing...bad, per se. I just want to...communicate with you. That’s what...couples and people in relationships do, yes? Communicate things that bother them? In private, perhaps? We could head back to your quarters, if you like.”

Jasper shook his head. “No, today is too lovely for that. Why don’t we walk along the battlements?”

Hand in hand, they climbed the staircase to the battlements, taking the more _out of the way_ routes that hadn’t been on the tour. Dorian sighed. “I’m just...annoyed. Cato and I were talking. He made it clear he’s still interested in me, which is fine - “ He caught himself at a sharp look from Jasper. “Look, I’m not going to sleep with him. But he’s entitled to like whoever he wants. As long as he keeps his hands to himself in the future.”

Jasper’s eyes turned murderous. “He _touched_ you? Without your consent? Son of a bitch, I’ll break his fucking fingers.”

“Jasper, don’t be overdramatic,” Dorian chastised, though he found Jasper’s indignation and possessiveness on his behalf rather amusing and just a tad endearing.

“I am being just the correct amount dramatic, actually!” Jasper countered. “Aside from the fact that you’re my boyfriend and, yeah, okay, maybe I’m a little possessive - but who in their right mind wouldn’t be, with _that_ ass on display? - ahem, anyway, you’re a member of the Inquisition and I simply won’t tolerate people touching you like you’re - I don’t know. A T-bone steak?” He grimaced. “I don’t know if I like that analogy. I was trying to avoid comparing you to a prostitute, actually, for obvious reasons, but that’s what I was getting at.”

Dorian chuckled and pulled Jasper closer, pressing a quick kiss to his nose. “You’re so adorable. I appreciate your concern, Jasper, but I can handle myself. Though I doubt you’d like to see two Tevinter mages going head-to-head. Even if we both vehemently hate blood magic, it’d still be quite the spectacle. Anyway, him trying to get into my pants isn’t what bothered me.”

“Oh?” Jasper said, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. “He did something worse than trying to fuck my _boyfriend_?”

Dorian sighed and pushed back the loose curls of Jasper’s hair that were getting blown about by the wind. It really was getting rather long and unruly. “He insulted you. Not directly. He’s got much respect for the Inquisition, but he had...assumed that you and I were only fucking for political intrigue. That I was using you to garner favor on behalf of Tevinter. That our relationship was a sham.”

Jasper frowned, but reached to cup Dorian’s face in his hand. “The entire country of Tevinter can eat my ass, Dorian. Look, I may not hate every individual ‘Vint anymore - Iron Bull really showed me how exhausting that is to do - but you’re still the only one I really like. And Krem, of course. But Krem doesn’t give me butterflies like you do.”

Dorian blinked. “I give you butterflies?”

Jasper smiled and blushed, ducking to hide his face, but Dorian forced him up with a hand on his chin. “Yes, you idiot, obviously. If you haven’t noticed, I kind of have a crush on you, you know.”

Dorian pressed a light kiss to Jasper’s lips. “You’re so fucking ridiculous, and I love you for that, honestly.” He sighed contentedly. “I can’t believe you’ve turned me into such a sentimental fool. Whoever thought that Dorian Pavus, scion of House Pavus, kicked out of Circles all over Tevinter and general embarrassment of my family, scandal-maker of Tevinter, would become such a saccharine, mushy - “

Jasper interrupted him. “Wonderful and amazing partner?”

“Shush, I wasn’t done making fun of myself,” Dorian said in mock annoyance.

Jasper pressed closer to Dorian. “But when you’re doing that, you’re being mean to my favorite person.”

Dorian gagged. “You are such a nauseatingly sappy person.”

“Love you, too, dumbass,” Jasper sighed, kissing Dorian. He pulled back before Dorian could make the kiss deeper. “Wait. How many schools were you kicked out of?”

Dorian winced. “Several.” Then he seemed to ponder it. “Five, I think? Would’ve been six. Nearly got kicked out of the Minrathous Circle, but Alexius spoke to them on my behalf. He took me under his wing, and saved me from disgrace. In fact, he’s the one who helped me unlock my true potential as a researcher.”

Jasper shivered. The breeze coming off the snow-capped mountains was chilly and had his eyes stinging. “Let’s keep walking. How’d you get kicked out of five, almost six schools, Dorian? You seem so tame.”

They kept walking hand in hand. Dorian snorted. “Tame? You just know how to handle me well, that’s all. Not to mention the south rather makes me feel like a wilted orchid. It’s so damned cold here. It’s supposed to be nearly summer, for goodness’ sake! But yes. Getting kicked out of the Circles.

“I was quite the precocious young mage,” Dorian continued, strolling slowly across the ramparts, passing by patrols of guards. “My father sent me to the Circle in Carastes, along the eastern coast, where one of our homes was.” Jasper scoffed at that, but Dorian just smiled. “What’s the point in having a disgusting amount of wealth if you’re not going to flaunt it in disgusting ways?”

Jasper hummed. “I can think of a few different ways to use it.”

Dorian chuckled. “I’m sure you could. Anyway, I was one of the youngest mages, and I positively excelled. I can’t tell you how much my peers must have hated me. And I had such a superiority complex - that happens when every adult you interact with calls you ‘gifted’. When your own parents tell you that you’re there to become archon, not to make friends. Well, I suppose I had a small group of friends. We weren’t very close. Anyway, I threw around my weight too much, another boy called me a brown-noser - me! - and I tossed a bit of magic at him and it gave him a concussion and a broken nose. I think I was about nine, then.”

Dorian sighed. “Stupid and impulsive. Which rather sums up my youth well enough. Anyway, he was an altus, too, and his parents went crazy about it all, and I got kicked out.”

“And thus started your truancy,” Jasper commented with a smirk.

“Look, it may not be as sad and traumatic as...your childhood, and I don’t mean that in a mean way,” Dorian clarified. “But that doesn’t mean - “

Jasper knocked his hip into Dorian’s, setting the mage off-balance and nearly sending him off the side of the ramparts, but Jasper kept Dorian’s hand firmly in his. “I wasn’t trying to invalidate you, shithead. Your childhood experience is just as important as anyone else’s, and the way it made you feel, too. I just think little rebellious Dorian is a cute mental image.”

Dorian sighed a long sigh. “Very few people have ever shared your sentiment. Certainly my parents didn’t.” He adopted a gruffer, more commanding voice as he imitated his father. “‘You’re an altus, you have everything you could ever ask for, the best education, servants and slaves waiting on you hand and foot, the best food, the best clothes, all the toys you could want! You have no reason to resent it or to be upset! No reason to not be grateful!’” He sighed again, a short huff. “It made me feel worse. This sense of being an ungrateful turd made me act out even worse than before.”

Jasper squeezed Dorian’s hand as they reached Cullen’s office, which was in a rather inconvenient spot, since it was a pathway through the battlements. “It’s almost as if material wealth isn’t enough to produce a well-rounded, fully-functional human being. Almost as if kids need to be loved and paid attention to, particularly by their parents.” Jasper knocked, and Cullen called for them to enter.

With an apology, they passed through his office, which Cullen was used to. On the other side, Dorain continued his little story for Jasper. “Then I just bounced around Circles. Got in fights, snuck in contraband, got drunk, high, got caught fooling around with other boys. Got caught with a prostitute I’d snuck into school once. _That_ was a shitstorm. In between schools, I had private tutors. None of them lasted long. Finally, when I was in my twenties, my father sent me to a small school in Minrathous. Very expensive, very Andrastian. He thought they’d be able to beat some sense into me. I met Cato, we became fast friends, and then we started...well, we entered a relationship. And then we were found out. His parents called him home immediately, of course, I was branded a...a corrupting deviant. It was humiliating. It was...really quite hard to deal with that. I disappeared three months later. Of my own free will, of course, don’t you worry. And Alexius found me passed out in a drunken stupor, on one hell of a bender, in a brothel. He found me amusing, at first, and offered me a choice: He could call the templars to haul my arse back to the Circle, or he could give me a ride back to the Gilded Quarter.”

“And I’m assuming you chose to go with him?” Jasper surmised. “You know, based off of you later becoming his apprentice and all?”

“Well, yes,” Dorian said. “And he was so impressed by my intelligence that he offered to be my mentor. He said I had a brilliant mind, and it would be a shame to let it waste. He didn’t try to control me or force me into it. He said I could choose any topic of interest. I moved into his estate, befriended Felix.” Dorian sighed sadly, his eyes staring at something Jasper could never see. “My parents eventually tracked me down, but by then I’d already become a fully ranked Enchanter at the Circle. I’d found my place again. I engaged in debates in the Circle, I attended balls and salons. I had every possible privilege. They were...proud of me, for once.”

They were passing over the gardens now. Morrigan was beside the gazebo with her son Kieran, a book propped in his lap. Morrigan glanced up as they passed overhead, an amused curl to her lips. Jasper rolled his eyes. “Go on, my darling.”

“Well, then disaster struck. Alexius and his family went on a trip. Waylaid by a small contingent of darkspawn. Killed his wife, nearly killed his son. Felix survived, but he was weakened by the darkspawn taint. It was killing him. I tried to help Alexius find a cure, and that’s where the whole obsession with time magic came along - he thought we could go back in time and stop the attack from ever happening. Eventually, we had a massive argument, and I left; I went back to my life of debauchery and excess. Then my parents tracked me down and dragged me home, imprisoned me in our manor, and planned my engagement to Lydia Zonaras. I embarrassed that girl and her family at a soiree, revealing my... _deviant proclivities_ in the process. And then I found out about my father’s _plans_ for me, so I ran away, and bopped around Tevinter on my own for a while, not a coin to my name. Just that stupid, fucking birthright.”

Jasper rubbed his thumb in circles on Dorian’s hand. “I’m sorry, _vhenan_.”

“Don’t be,” Dorian said, suddenly sounding rather chipper, waving away Jasper’s concern with a motion of his hand. Jasper could tell it took a great effort to shake away the storm cloud of his past in that moment. “If not for all that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Jasper grinned and pulled Dorian closer, kissing him roughly, and Dorian was back in the present just like that. Dorian sighed with delight and molded around Jasper’s smaller body, wrapping his arms around him and pressing him against the parapet. Jasper gripped Dorian’s arse suddenly, and the mage’s surprised yelp was muffled in Jasper’s desperate kisses, their tongues sliding against each other’s.

“Er - “ a nervous voice stammered. “My bad!”

“Apologies, Inquisitor!” a guard squawked.

Dorian pulled back sharply, cheeks red as the two guards on rotation hurried past them, heads lowered very purposefully, eyes glued to the stone floor like it might hold the secret to defeating Corypheus. Jasper giggled, a wide grin on his face, eyes sparkling. Dorian tried to look reproachful, but he couldn’t help a chuckle and a snort. He leaned forward and buried his face into the junction where Jasper’s neck met his shoulder, hiding his smile. His genuine, truthful smile.

Jasper carded his fingers through Dorian’s soft waves, gently petting him, scraping his nails lightly against the back of his neck, twirling locks of hair around his bejeweled fingers. Dorian hummed happily and stayed there, pressed against Jasper, leaning on him, Jasper just delighting in having Dorian there.

“Dorian,” Jasper said softly, his lips brushing the mage’s ear. “My back is starting to hurt. Can we go inside? It should be time for lunch. In fact - shit, I think I have a meeting after lunch. Fuck.”

Dorian drew back and laced his fingers with Jasper’s again, leading him back to the main hall, where lunch was being served. Jasper wondered if he’d keep holding his hand as they approached the long table where the ‘Vints and a few others were seated for lunch - most of Jasper’s companions didn’t join the formal table for lunch, and would instead get rations to eat outside with the rest of the soldiers. But Dorian kept their fingers twined, and Jasper didn’t know if the heightened murmuring was his imagination playing tricks on him or not, but he felt like the sun was shining on them specifically.

Jasper couldn’t tell if Cato was pretending not to notice their linked hands as they sat down or if he really didn’t notice; or, if he did, if he really didn’t care. It’s not like he could _still_ be so into Dorian after all this time, right? Not the way Dorian described him, at least. Plus, he seemed to be working for Magister Tilani, and if Dorian trusted her, then so did Jasper. He took a breath. Cato wasn’t a man-stealer or something like that. He was just a dude, and he found Dorian attractive, like so many others; and they had history together, but that was okay. As long as he never laid another hand on Dorian.

Jasper leaned closer to Dorian as they took their seats and whispered in his ear. “Have you ever used a cock-ring?” he asked quietly in a casual tone. “Or a butt-plug?”

Dorian started choking on his glazed carrots, covering his mouth with one hand and reaching for his goblet with the other. His cheeks were scarlet, the blush spreading from root to collar. Jasper tried to look utterly nonchalant, but was soon dissolving in a fit of giggles, something he was surprised he could still do despite all the traumatizing _bullshit_ he’d been through. That they’d both been through.

The ‘Vints looked at them with a mixture of curiosity and dolefulness. Dorian finally managed to recover and cleared his throat, surreptitiously elbowing Jasper at the same time. Jasper tried to stifle his laughter, but at the look on Cato’s face, he really couldn’t help it. Josephine was shooting Jasper a dirty look, too, and that just made it all funnier.

Then Leliana came striding over. Her hand on Jasper’s shoulder sobered him immediately. “Jasper, Josephine: Morrigan requests our presence in the war room. She’s found something.”

Frowning, Jasper stood up and followed Leliana and Josephine. Dorian squeezed his hand before he was led off down the hall. Cullen was already in the room when they arrived, studying the map of Thedas studiously, thumbing a marker. Morrigan was not inside. The others took their customary positions around the large table, glancing around, each wondering what on Thedas Morrigan could’ve figured out, and why she was making them wait now.

A moment later, the doors to the war room opened and in strode Morrigan, feathers fluttering from her sleeve. She took her place beside Jasper and cleared her throat. “Apologies for the dramatic entrance. However, I think I know what it is that Corypheus seeks within the Arbor Wilds. He is looking for...an eluvian.”

“A what?” Cullen asked brusquely.

“An eluvian is a magical mirror,” Morrigan explained. “The ancient elves of Arlathan had no roads between their cities. Instead, they used these mirrors to travel the great distances between their cities, each eluvian connecting to another. It is a magic unlike any we know of today. There are very few remaining, hidden away in the corners of the world, their keys lost as well.”

“What use has Corypheus of this eluvian?” Josephine asked nervously, eyebrows knitted together with concern, grip tight on her pen.

“Theoretically…” Morrigan began, sounding a tad uncertain. “He could use them to travel into realms not typically accessible to mankind.”

“The Fade,” Jasper guessed, voice grim.

“With an eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh?” Leliana asked, alarmed, her blue eyes sharp.

“Perhaps,” Morrigan said aloofly, but there was disconcerted concern in her eyes. “The space where the eluvians lead is an in-between space. It is very close to the Fade. Someone with enough power could tear down the ancient barriers. Theoretically.”

Jasper sighed. “Love that. Sounds like a shit-ton of fun.”

“We actually have one such eluvian here, in Skyhold,” Morrigan informed them. “I have been able to repair it.”

“Without informing anyone?” Cullen barked. “You opened up a secret door into our fortress? Corypheus - or anyone else - could waltz right in at any time!”

Morrigan frowned disdainfully at him. “I am not foolish, Commander. I have taken precautions, and I shall show you the eluvian now.”

They followed Morrigan from the war room and through Skyhold, until they came to a little-used, dusty corridor. At the end of it was a door. Morrigan pushed the door open and revealed a room no larger than a closet, just big enough to fit the five of them with a little elbow room. There was a dirty drop-cloth on the ground at the foot of a mirror so tarnished it did not reflect what was before it. It was huge, too, taller than Jasper, as tall as the walls of the room. It was quiet and still, nothing like a magic door. Perhaps if it were polished, it would be able to reflect again, but that did not seem to be part of Morrigan’s restoration efforts.

Then Morrigan raised her arms and thrust her faintly glowing hands toward the mirror. The glass face of the eluvian flared suddenly, turning a startling, shocking blue that blinded Jasper; its surface swirled and rippled like the sea. It hummed quietly, glowing. It made the hair of Jasper’s arms stand up, this ancient energy buzzing. Morrigan turned toward them, a small, smug smile on her lips.

“Shall we?” she asked, stepping toward the mirror. She put one leg _through_ it, as if it were made of nothing more than water or smoke, and disappeared within it, the surface still ever-moving.

Jasper shrugged and followed her without much of a second thought. Leliana was right behind him, followed by Josephine and finally Cullen. Jasper stepped out into a bizarre area. It was like they were outside, no discernible ceiling in sight, the ground beneath them like packed dirt, but everything seemed utterly washed of color, slightly tinged blue. There was a thick mist hanging in the air, and through it Jasper could see shapes like other mirrors, and bizarre trees, some ancient, crumbling buildings. However, he could not tell where the horizon began or ended. It could go on for miles or for only yards; he had no idea how large the space they were in really was.

“This is the Crossroads. Corypheus marshals the last of his forces to find and unlock this other eluvian in the Arbor Wilds, and enter this space between space,” Morrigan explained. “We must stop him, and soon.”

Jasper nodded. “Yeah, no shit. This is _bad_ news.”

Morrigan nodded. “Let us head back now.”

They followed her back out to the closet, stepping through the mirror as they had before. The others seemed a little shaken, but Jasper barely registered this experience as batshit crazy. Morrigan raised her arms again and drew them downward like a maestro, and the eluvian went dark once more.

They marched back to the war room, each of them rather subdued. Once back around the table, Cullen asked, “What would happen if he successfully breached the Fade?”

“Why, he would get his heart’s desire and claim the power of a god,” Morrigan said matter-of-factly. “Or - and this is more likely - the lunatic would unleash forces that tear the world apart.”

“Yeah, I hear that’s bad for your health,” Jasper quipped, chewing on his lower lip.

“Should Corypheus succeed,” Morrigan continued, “no doubt you would be the first to feel his holy wrath.”

Jasper sighed. “Reassuring.”

“Pardon me, but…” Josephine paused. “Does this mean that all is lost unless we reach this eluvian before him?”

Cullen clenched his jaw. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army mobilizes.”

“We should gather our allies before we march to the Arbor Wilds,” Josephine declared, making a note on her clipboard. “This is an important move.”

“Can we wait that long?” Leliana countered. “I could send my spies ahead to the Wilds.”

Cullen scoffed. “Without the support of soldiers? You’d lose half of them before we arrived!”

“Then what _should_ we do?” Josephine sniped, agitated.

“Stop fucking panicking, for a start,” Jasper snapped, annoyed. “Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’ army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”

Morrigan chuckled. “Such confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods.”

“We’ll be prepared,” Jasper assured them all, even if he didn’t feel so certain himself. “We’ll succeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm no longer content with merely rambling idiotically in the chapter notes. i've spread to the title. i just don't care anymore.
> 
> i wish morrigan were gay tho like goddamn she is my TYPE i love being condescended to by girls with bigger boobs than me
> 
> anyway. i love jasper so much. and sometimes i find it WILD how when i plotted this all in my head it was supposed to be slowburn as fuck but then i just couldn't do it. ig if i want to write slowburn i shouldn't write the romance with 2 absolute HORNDOGS.
> 
> also wow i use a lot of italics i've realized. wild.


	29. The Well of Fucking Sorrows

And so it began. Cullen requisitioned supplies, organized the army to prepare to march upon the Arbor Wilds and meet Corypheus’ army head-on. Josephine wrote to their allies, to the chevaliers in Orlais and to the empress, to Queen Anora and to the merchants. Leliana mobilized her scouts and her spies, ravens and crows constantly fluttering to and from the rookery tower that she haunted. The cogs were in motion.

Jasper had a sickly feeling that this might be the end. Their armies would clash together, full-force, for the first time. Corypheus was somewhere in the Wilds, and Jasper was filled with fear of meeting him face-to-face for the first time since Haven. He shivered, remembering that voice like cracking bones. Remembering the snow burying himself, the cold, the bitter wind as he trudged across the mountainside, injured and dying. The fear.

Would the dragon be there? Jasper wasn’t sure he could handle the dragon again, not after Haven and Adamant. He could hear its raw, grating roar in his nightmares most nights. It always woke him, gasping and in a cold sweat, heart hammering like it was trying to escape the terror swirling inside of him. As long as he lived, he didn’t think he would forget that sound.

Time seemed to move too quickly and too slowly all at once, Jasper dreading every single day leading up to the date of their march, while also wishing it was already the day so they could _go_ and get this over with. And then it was upon them. It was time to march.

They arrived in the Arbor Wilds with much fanfare - flags bearing the Inquisition’s crest were flown at intervals along the bulk of the army that Cullen led. Their allies had already cleared out and prepared an area in the dense jungle for them to encamp. Well, several areas, as there was no way to pack all these hundreds and thousands of soldiers, dignitaries, servants, and other necessities in just one clearing. It was like a miniature village, all these people and all this hustle and bustle.

For days after their arrival, the Inquisition soldiers went toe-to-toe with the red templars scattered through the Arbor Wilds, with few casualties or injuries. That alone went a long way to boosting morale. Jasper was glad, because this time, they really had no clue what they were doing. Search as their scouts might, they couldn’t find any sort of mirror-like eluvian in this area, nor its key. It could be that Morrigan was wrong, and that Corypheus did not seek an eluvian. Or it could be that it was hidden beyond their grasp.

Jasper hated this bizarre, unmapped place and wanted to leave as soon as humanly possible. It gave him the absolute willies. There was something strange about this jungle. Something in the air that didn’t feel right, something ancient. And he always felt like someone was watching him - and there were plenty of people watching their leader, yes, but it was different than that. He didn’t know how to describe it, exactly, and even if he did, he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. The last thing anyone wanted - or needed - right now was for the Inquisitor to start acting paranoid and having hallucinations of being watched by some mysterious being - or beings.

It wasn’t just the creepy feeling he got, though; that was just the start. It was the thick vegetation. Huge, thick trees with impenetrable canopies that blocked the sun from reaching the forest floor. It was the unpredictable rain showers that sometimes lasted ten minutes, sometimes all day long. It made everything bright and verdant, but it also made things unbearably humid. It felt like a sauna, and Jasper was sure he would steam inside his armor. There were also these huge mushrooms that sprouted all over the muddy forest floor, some of them with caps the size of his face. And there were the bugs - twice the size of anything he’d seen up north.

Then one day, the scouts finally saw something worth seeing. Corypheus himself, travelling toward an elven ruin, located in the northern part of the jungle. It was in remarkable shape, according to the scouts, and if he were looking for an eluvian or its key, that must be the place to find it. After all, they were elven in origin, right? Jasper thought that perhaps he should feel something deep inside himself answer to this, something that realized he was near his ancestors. But no. Nothing. Very unhelpful.

The Inquisition soldiers cut a swathe through Corypheus’ forces for Jasper, Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and Morrigan. As they passed through the unforgiving jungle, leaving behind Empress Celene and the bulk of the Inquisition at the forward camp, Morrigan placed her hand on Jasper’s arm. There was a meaningful look in her cat-like golden eyes. Jasper quirked an eyebrow, but dropped back from the others with her, and they talked in hushed whispers.

“I believe this elven ruin may be the temple of Mythal,” Morrigan told him. Dorian glanced back at them, curious and concerned, but Jasper waved him off, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

“Who the fuck is that?” Jasper asked. “Another baddie we have to fight?”

Morrigan gave him a disapproving look. “She is one of the ancient elven gods, Inquisitor. Her temple is a place of worship out of elven legend. The eluvian must be within.”

“Makes sense,” Jasper said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He’d come to the conclusion of the eluvian being within the temple already. Why did everyone think he was stupid? Was it because he was an elf? Or because he wasn’t a mage? Or because he was a thug? He didn’t think any of those were a valid reason. “So glad I have such wise companions to explain these difficult concepts to me, a peasant.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Apologies, Inquisitor. My former traveling companions, from my adventuring days, were less than...brilliant.”

Jasper quirked an eyebrow. He knew she’d travelled with the Hero of Ferelden, Indira, but he hadn’t really gotten a feel for her intuition or intelligence. Still, she defeated a Blight and cleared the name of the Grey Wardens in the process, so she couldn’t be that stupid. And Jasper knew she _definitely_ wasn’t talking about Leliana. Other than that, he didn’t know of their other companions.

Jasper tensed suddenly, his ears twitching. “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. Cassandra and Varric, at the head of their group, came to a standstill and turned back to look at him. He pointed to the right. “Over there. By that huge waterfall. I hear fighting. The waterfall must be muffling it.”

They crept over, crouching low among the dense underbrush, and below them, at the edge of the pool that the waterfall deposited into, were templar tents. Red templars. Fighting...elves? Jasper blinked and rubbed his eyes. Those were elves. Taller than any he’d seen before, tall like Solas. And wearing dark armor with hoods. No tattoos, and far too skilled to be any city elves. Still, an enemy of the red templars was a friend of the Inquisition.

Jasper and the others joined the melee, but when the red templars were taken out, the elves started attacking _them_. As if they couldn’t tell the difference between the blighted templars and the uncorrupted Inquisition. Still, they proved no match against Jasper and his companions.

“What the fuck are elves doing here?” Jasper asked, turning one of them over with his boot after they’d all been taken down.

“It seems that the temple of Mythal is not deserted after all,” Morrigan surmised. “Perhaps these creatures are the reason so few return from the Arbor Wilds.”

They continued to cut through elves and templars, helping the Inquisition soldiers when they could. Slowly, ruins seemed to emerge from the ground, covered in moss and creeping vines. Half-standing statues of halla, broken stones, collapsed arches. Bridges that were somehow still standing, even if they were a little crumbly around the edges. The ruins became more and more intact and definite as they continued deeper into the Wilds. Then Jasper saw a great doorway set in a stone wall, delicately detailed and arched, and fighting on the other side.

“This must be the entrance to the temple,” Jasper guessed, leading the way. “I can’t believe it really exists.”

“Be careful,” Dorian said, reaching for Jasper’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. Jasper stopped for a moment, a blush on his cheeks, gazing at his lover. Dorian stared back, his gray eyes serious and filled with concern. “Corypheus may be in there already. Don’t...do anything stupid.”

Jasper gave him a wide, crooked grin. “Since when have I _ever_ done anything stupid, my love?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Dorian let go and kept moving forward with the rest of the group, but Jasper hung back and grabbed his hand again to give it another squeeze “We’ll be fine, _vhenan_. Promise.”

They continued forward, fingers slipping away; the carnage that greeted them was overwhelming. Bodies - elven, twisted templar, stray Grey Wardens, and Inquisition - littered the ground like fallen leaves. Everywhere. Literally everywhere. Pools of blood covered all other ground, so that Jasper couldn’t tell if they stood on earth or stone as they entered the courtyard of the temple. A huge tree stood in its center, soaring to the sky, which had a yellowish tint to it, as if a storm were brewing. Like nature itself knew that something was wrong.

Jasper and the others kept low to the ground, in a crouch. They were on a raised walkway that wrapped around the area, a few feet above the courtyard proper, and they didn’t want to be spotted just yet. They peered through the spokes of the handrailing, between creeping vines. There, in the courtyard, on a bridge stretching over a pond, were more of those mysterious elves. And approaching them…

“Oh, shit,” Jasper hissed, his heart plummeting to his gut, the blood draining from his face.

“Seconded,” Varric murmured, brow furrowed with worry.

Corypheus, still as monstrous as the last time Jasper had faced him, months ago, strode forward. The red lyrium crystals growing out of his body glimmered in the weak sunshine. And there was a man beside him, dressed in templar armor, greasy hair slicked back. Samson. As one of the elves growled something in elven, Samson smirked and laughed.

“They still think to fight us, Master,” he said with disdain.

“These are but remnants,” Corypheus said in his chilling, grinding-rock voice, gesturing to the elves. He tossed something onto the ground before the elves. Jasper grimaced when he realized it was a dead body, dressed in the robes that the other mysterious elves wore. “They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

Well of Sorrows? That wasn’t something they’d covered in their war meetings. Jasper glanced over at Morrigan with a questioning look on his face, but she shrugged, seeming puzzled and frustrated. So this was news to her, too. It was one of the few times Jasper wished he had Solas in his group, since he was a walking encyclopedia of all things elven and/or ancient. Still, was it worth listening to his insufferable monologues and subtle judgment? Probably not.

The carved pillars on either side of the bridge below started to glow with ward magic as Corypheus strode forward. The elves stood tall and unafraid, facing him down, staves and bows in hand. Corypheus paused at the threshold, glancing at the glowing runes.

“Be honored!” he declared. “Witness death at the hands of a new god!”

He continued forward, towering over the elves, at least twice their height. It looked like the wards would not stop him; that he would simply continue forward over the bridge. But the moment he tried to pass over the threshold, the magic ignited, bands of energy stretching from the stone pillars to connect to him. It was similar to the Fade magic that connected Jasper to rifts, but more concentrated. Jasper shielded his eyes at the bright light that engulfed the scene.

Corypheus kept moving forward as if struggling against a strong wind, as if pushing against a wall of rocks. The elves below stared, stunned. He grabbed one of them by the head, like a rag doll, and squeezed until his head popped like a water balloon. Jasper winced, but couldn’t look away. Corypheus...seemed to be melting, like a candle on fire, dripping. Jasper could see the bone as his skin peeled away and his eyes fell from their sockets. It was a horrifying, grisly sight. And then he exploded like a barrel of gaatlok, and Jasper was nearly thrown from his crouched position by the force of the blast. He and the others managed to keep their feet beneath them, but the others - the elves, the red templars - were blown through the air like they weighed nothing.

The air cleared slowly of the dust and debris. The pillars were gone. Samson and a handful of his templars had continued over the bridge, disappearing into the temple. Jasper rose and leapt over the railing, down into the courtyard proper, the others following. The bodies were non-responsive. Either dead, or unconscious. Jasper didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out; he only cared about one dead bastard right now. But there was no body to find. No remains. Just a smear of ash on the stones.

Jasper shook his head. “No fucking way. It’s not this easy. Stay alert.”

A gurgling sound drew Jasper’s attention. Someone was alive. He turned around when the gurgling became louder, mixing into a growl. A previously prone body was now jerking on the ground as if controlled by a puppeteer, limbs leaping this way and that as it thrusted forward into a sitting position. Jasper stared in horror, Morrigan beside him, her staff drawn; they watched with morbid curiosity as the man in Grey Warden armor flailed about like a fish out of water. Then blood spurt forth from his mouth in a horrific geyser, spattering over them all.

“It cannot be!” Morrigan cried, staring in horror at the twisted body as it started to seize and tremble.

“Jasper,” Dorian warned, grabbing at his arm as Jasper took a step closer. Jasper shook him off. The person’s back seemed to be shifting, and something was bulging from it, like a tumor. Like a parasite. Then _something_ burst forth from it with a splash of blood and gore. It was bony. It was long and had even longer talons at the end. Oh no. Oh, sweet merciful Andraste. An arm and hand. Jasper stumbled back a step, eyes wide.

“Across the bridge!” he commanded, voice shaking but loud, an octave higher than usual. “ _Now_!”

They sprinted away as the thing that was once human was twisted and torn apart by something growing within it. Jasper glanced backwards and saw glowing red eyes and the huge, malformed body of Corypheus rising slowly from the gore.

There was a roar that shattered their eardrums. Of fucking course. The dragon. Perfect timing. It bore down on them as they raced across the bridge and through the massive doorway on the other side.

“Come on, close the doors!” Jasper cried as he threw his body against one of the humongous doors. Dorian leaned against the door with him, grunting with the effort. Cassandra, Varric, and Morrigan pushed against the other. Jasper could see through the gap between the door the dragon, coming in low, mouth open. An electric red haze was forming in its maw. If they didn’t get the door closed, they would all become barbecue.

The doors heaved and slammed shut as a burst of electric fire shot at them. The doors held against it, locking into place. A wave of golden magic spread over their metal surface, and Jasper knew it would hold. For now, at least. He let out a huge breath of relief and hunched over, hands on knees, panting. Trying to catch his breath. Shaking. The others looked just as exhausted, just as horrified.

“Everyone okay?” Jasper asked wearily, swiping blood from his face. Not his. It belonged to that poor Grey Warden. The others nodded, still catching their breath. “Okay. Let’s keep moving forward, then. If Corypheus found a way to escape death, then he’ll find a way through these doors.”

They hurried through the ancient temple. It wasn’t nearly as dilapidated as he thought it would be. Those weird elves must be keeping it somewhat functional. Sure, there were plants and even trees growing through some of the cracks in the stone. But the mosaic floor and the painted ceiling were mostly intact. There were some gaps that let in sunlight, but Jasper at least felt that he wasn’t about to be crushed by an errant crumbling stone at any moment. That was always a plus.

“You said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he mentioned a ‘Well of Sorrows’,” Cassandra said to Morrigan, a tinge of accusation in her voice. “Which is true?”

Morrigan sighed, looking sheepish. She obviously didn’t like Cassandra’s tone of voice, but evidently she had no good answer, either. “I...am uncertain of what he was referring to,” she admitted as they walked briskly through the corridors.

“Brilliant,” Jasper muttered. “So we don’t even know what he’s looking for, now. He is, once again, a step ahead of us. Fucking shitballs.”

Dorian’s hand on his arm was calming. “Morrigan, could they be the same thing? Could ‘eluvian’ somehow translate to ‘Well of Sorrows’?”

Morrigan shook her head slowly. “No. It appears an eluvian is _not_ the prize he is looking for.” Jasper gave her a look. A cool, level look unlike his usual eye-rolling or dramatic exasperation. He was really _not_ happy right now. Morrigan narrowed her eyes at him. “I was wrong!” Morrigan snapped. “Does that please you?”

“No,” Jasper snapped back. This was just another unwelcome puzzle piece, another thing to add to his to-do list, another potential weapon for Corypheus. Another unknown that could give Corypheus the upper hand. “I’m _not_ fucking pleased at all!”

Dorian’s hand on Jasper’s shoulder was the only thing keeping him from storming off and leaving the rest of them to figure out what the shit to do now. Jasper took a deep breath, raking his hands through his curls, fingers getting caught in the bloody, sweaty tangles. He sighed. “Sorry, Morrigan.”

She really didn’t seem all that bothered by his outburst. It seemed she was used to, or maybe indifferent to, vitriolic behavior toward her, and so she carried on. “Whatever this Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and therefore you must keep it from his grasp.”

Jasper deflated. They had no idea what the Well of Sorrows was. Maybe it was just a normal well with a bucket and all. Weird, but they’d seen weirder. At least that would make finding it easier. But if it were an ancient elven artifact, chances were that “well” was a very general, broad term. They might not even be translating it correctly. Which put them back at square one of not knowing what the shit was going on. Jasper looked out further into the sanctum of Mythal’s temple, overgrown with foliage. Samson and the other templars already had a head start. Jasper wasn’t sure what Samson could do with the Well of Sorrows - whatever it was - without Corypheus, but he sure did not want to find out.

“Come on, then, let’s find this well before Corypheus’ people do,” Jasper decided, rolling his shoulders. They trudged through the humid jungle within the temple, picking over roots and fallen limbs. Jasper turned toward Morrigan as they pushed onward. “I really am sorry for snapping at you, Morrigan.”

She shrugged as she pushed a vine out of her way. “Never mind it, Inquisitor. I, too, am upset with myself right now.”

Cassandra helped Varric over a large bough that crossed their path, and glanced toward Morrigan suspiciously. “I want to know what happened to Corypheus. We watched him _die_. How did he return to life?”

Morrigan’s golden cat eyes were troubled. “Corypheus appears to have the darkspawn taint. It seemed his life force passed on to any blighted creature, darkspawn or Grey Warden.”

“Oh,” Jasper murmured. “How is that possible?”

Morrigan pursed her lips. “An archdemon is essentially immortal. ‘Tis why the Grey Wardens were created. They alone are able to destroy an archdemon - when it dies, its soul is directed to the nearest blighted thing, usually a Grey Warden, as Corypheus’ appears to be. The Grey Warden - in the case of the archdemon - then dies, taking the soul of the ancient, corrupted god with it. However, Corypheus is no archdemon. It would require more research to determine how exactly this works for him.”

Jasper swatted at a large horsefly. “Fucking - Maker’s balls, are you telling me he’s effectively fucking _immortal_?”

Morrigan sighed. “There must be a way to stop him. I am sure of it. We just have not unlocked the right secrets yet.”

They slowed and paused when they came across a raised platform inlaid with bizarre stones. They were incredibly intricate, carved with delicate details and swirls. In the center was a tall pillar, also carved with symbols. Jasper glanced at the others and then jogged up the stairs, tentatively stepping onto one of the large square stones. It lit up around him. He whirled around, hand on his dagger, looking for danger. But nothing happened. The light remained.

“Morrigan?” he called. “Any idea what’s going on?”

“It appears the temple’s magics are still strong,” Morrigan remarked vaguely.

Jasper cocked an eyebrow. “Anything about the Well of Sorrows?”

Morrigan shook her head slowly, climbing the stairs to stand beside Jasper. “I only recognize a few phrases...Ah! _Abelasan_ \- it means ‘place of sorrows’. That must be the well. Then there’s something about knowledge...respectful, or pure... _shiven_... _shivennen_ …” Morrigan shrugged, frustration lining her face. “‘Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the well is a good omen.”

Jasper sighed. “Well, at least we’re on the right track. It’s here, somewhere.”

“Supplicants to Mythal would’ve first paid obeisance here,” Morrigan told him, gesturing to the stones. Only the ones they had stepped on were lit up, glimmering with ancient magic. “Following their path may aid entry.”

Morrigan stepped off the platform. Jasper looked around at the glowing squares of stones. “Are you shitting me? We’ve got to...figure out puzzles now? Look, I don’t know how many times I have to expressly tell people that I’m kind of a shit-for-brains when it comes to these sorts of things. Toss me on the battlefield, and I’m your gal, but this?” He scoffed.

Jasper felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look at Dorian, who was frowning at him in a way that made Jasper feel itchy. He glanced away. “It might be worth it, Jasper. After all, this is your heritage.”

Jasper bristled at that. “Not really. I’ve never even been this far south. Mythal? Don’t know her. None of the gods ever helped me out, and Maker knows I needed them. Fuck this. But whatever. Since everyone else seems to care so much about this stupid elven shit!”

Dorian was more suited to these puzzles than Jasper was, but as the token elf, everyone looked to him to solve the puzzles, ignoring the whole “shit for brains” fact of the matter. It took him several tries to even figure out the aim of the puzzles, the way to solve them. And then he thought it was easy, at first. All he had to do was light up all the squares by stepping on them, but then they would all turn dark again if he stepped on the same tile twice. It was frustrating, to say the least. Nothing happened after he finished a puzzle, except all the tiles started glowing. At least no enemies appeared, no booby traps were triggered.

As they passed slowly through the temple, finishing each puzzle, Jasper couldn’t help but admire how the architecture was really quite remarkable. If Jasper took a moment to concentrate, he could almost picture what this massive temple may have looked like in its heyday. They paused by a massive statue of a wolf, Morrigan studying it, brow furrowed.

“How odd,” she remarked, reading the inscription. “This is a depiction of the Dread Wolf, Fen’harel. In elven tales, he tricks the gods into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time. Setting Fen’harel in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry.”

Jasper had heard the term Dread Wolf, of course. He remembered it from his childhood. It was a curse, just about. _Dread Wolf take you_. Occasionally, that insult was thrown at him by elves he came across during their travels. He really had never paid it mind. He remembered the stories, of course, but he truly didn’t believe there were any gods out there watching over them all. No Maker, either. He just liked tossing the name around for shits and giggles. It was good to curse someone. And really, _Maker’s balls_ had such a nice ring to it. Still, seeing the statue made Jasper’s blood run cold, and for a moment he wondered if perhaps all those myths had a grain of truth to them.

“I’m always a fan of heresy,” Jasper remarked flippantly, shaking off the cold dread. “Keeps my skin clear and wrinkle-free.”

Morrigan snorted. “Still, so long as the Wolf’s jaws cannot close around us, we may pass on safely.”

Jasper glanced back at Morrigan. Sometimes he forgot that she was superstitious, considering how knowledgeable and logical she was. Still, it only made sense. She’d been raised in the wilds; she was a practitioner of arts more arcane than those taught in the Circles. Just because she mocked the Maker, and just because she wasn’t an elf, didn’t mean she didn’t put stock in the ancient stories.

There was an explosion, not very far away, that made them all stop in their tracks for a moment. Then Jasper hurried into the next chamber, heart hammering, and froze as he saw Samson on a raised walkway around the perimeter of the room. He was on the far side from them, watching the dust settle. What had they done? Around him were several twisted red templars. Samson turned and saw the Inquisition, and a sadistic, smug smirk spread on his face.

“Hold them off!” he commanded some of the more monstrous templars. Then he jumped into the hole he’d blown in the floor of the rock, and disappeared. Then, from behind pillars to the sides of the chamber, appeared the mysterious elves. Jasper really hoped they were more keen on destroying the templars than on destroying Jasper and his companions. Maybe they’d seen Jasper working so hard on all those blasted puzzles, and would cut him some slack.

Jasper and his companions drew their weapons and lunged at the red templars, tearing through them vicious and efficiently. The elves seemed focused on destroying the templars, too, but once they were gone, the elves turned their wrath onto Jasper and his friends. There was a part of him that felt bad, killing these elves, but not bad enough to really matter. Apparently, solving Mythal’s ancient puzzle games didn’t win you points with her followers.

“Little cockshits,” Jasper cursed as he massaged his abdomen, trying to catch his breath. One of the elves had gotten in a really good kick that had knocked him absolutely breathless. He’d have one hell of a bruise later, that was for sure. He shrugged it off. “Come on, we might still be able to catch up with Samson!”

They ran over to the edge of a man-made pit in the floor of the temple, which led to cavernous corridors below. This must’ve been the explosion, then. Jasper was about to jump in after Samson and his goons, but Morrigan stopped him with a hand.

“Hold a moment!” she declared, a glint in her eyes. “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination.” She gestured to a set of tall double doors at the other end of the courtyard, which stood resolutely shut.

“Tch,” Jasper grumbled. “Like we have time! The Inquisition is fighting just outside this temple for us. Samson’s made a shortcut, Morrigan, we’ll be hard-pressed to stop them as it is!”

“We should walk the petitioner’s path, as before,” Morrigan insisted. There was a hunger in her eyes that made Jasper uneasy, and he once again wondered why exactly Morrigan had joined the Inquisition. He glanced toward the doors. Maybe she simply sought ancient and forgotten knowledge.

“Jasper is right,” Cassandra decided, a rare thing indeed to be leaving her mouth. Jasper glanced at her with a smirk, which she pointedly ignored. “Our people fight and die for us. We should not tarry.”

Dorian scoffed. “Just a thought: Maybe tearing through this place like a mad bull isn’t the safest plan?”

Jasper pursed his lips. If the magic of this place was still alive, who knew what sort of mayhem the templars could be getting themselves into right now, blowing shit up and disrespecting the ancient place of worship of Mythal. There was no telling what sort of trouble, however, Jasper and the others would get into if they started opening up new doors and invoking new magic. But surely, if they paid proper respect to the majestic place, there would be less to worry for? Would the magic be on their side?

“We cannot find the Well of Sorrows unprepared,” Morrigan stressed. “There could be vital information along the petitioner’s path.”

Jasper eyed Morrigan through narrowed eyes. “Morrigan. You want the Well of Sorrows for yourself, don’t you?”

She blushed. “We don’t even know what it yet is, Inquisitor,” she replied tartly. Answer enough for Jasper. It came as no surprise.

Jasper took a step closer to Morrigan. He was a tad taller than her, but it barely made a difference. She met his eyes levelly, refusing to be cowed. Jasper’s voice was low and uncommonly even when he spoke. “Do not get in my way, Morrigan. If I think you’re threatening the goal of the Inquisition - which is stopping Corypheus and saving the world, in case you’ve forgotten, not saving ancient magic - I will stop you, by any means necessary. You know that to be true, don’t you?”

Morrigan didn’t back down, and she hardly seemed bothered, except for the slight narrowing of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils. Her tone was cold and biting. “Of course, Lord Inquisitor.”

Morrigan strode toward the huge onyx double doors, and Jasper followed her. “There is danger to the natural order of things, Inquisitor. Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. Their passing has left us all the lesser. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the well. I would have it restored.”

Jasper side-eyed Morrigan. “Right. Of course.”

“Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it doesn’t understand,” Morrigan mused bitterly. “Elves, dragons, magic...the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing but the mundane. This I _know_ to be true. And...I understood more of that ancient elven in the first chamber than I revealed. It says that to use the Well of Sorrows, you will receive a great boon, but at a terrible price. _Halam’shivanas_ \- ‘the sweet sacrifice of duty.’ The loss of something personal for duty’s sake. If we can save the well without jeopardizing your cause, I will pay the cost. The rituals may point the way.”

Jasper frowned and glanced at his other companions, and the look in Cassandra’s eyes was very uneasy. Of course, as “progressive” as Cass seemed to think she was, the idea of something unknown and arcane and magical was, to her, something that shouldn’t be touched. Something that should be left alone. He looked to Dorian. He had the look that he always got when encountering some new unknown: intense curiosity mixed with trepidation, but also determination.

The last puzzle, once solved, resulted in a metallic clang, like a giant lock falling open. Jasper wiped sweat off his brow and looked to the tall double doors, which now stood open. A mist hissed out from behind them, clinging close to the stone floors. Inside was mysteriously dark, and Jasper felt a tug in his gut leading him forward. He led the way cautiously, his footsteps echoing on the intricate mosaic floor within the chamber and off the soaring ceilings.

“‘Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan mused, glancing around the huge chamber. It looked pristine. No wild plants had overtaken this room. No dust clogged the air. “What was this chamber used for, I wonder.”

When they had all stepped over the threshold, the doors closed of their own accord, which did nothing to ease Jasper’s mounting anxiety. Something didn’t feel right here. “We’re being watched,” he said with certainty and unease.

Above them on one of the balconies, an elf appeared, seeming to have melted out of the shadows. Jasper held his arm out to stop the others, staring up at this mysterious, hooded elf.

“ _Venavis_ ,” the elf said, his accent bizarre and unfamiliar. Jasper quirked an eyebrow. “You...are unlike the other invaders. You stumble along our paths, elvhen. Elvhen? Or at least, you have our features. You bear the mark of magic which is...familiar.”

As if in response to his cryptic words, Jasper’s marked hand flared up. He glared down at it; he’d been good at controlling it, but the mark seemed to react whenever people talked about it, as if it longed to be used, or to reconnect with its kin in the aether.

“How has this come to pass?” the elf continued, tone accusatory. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

Jasper quirked an eyebrow. “Pardon? What do you mean, slumber?”

The elf glared down at him. “I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those that trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion.”

“Wait, so, let me get this straight,” Jasper interrupted, holding up his hands. If these elves had been alive since the temple was built... “ _You’re_ ancient elves? From before Tevinter destroyed Arlathan?”

Abelas sneered down on them. “The _shemlen_ did not destroy Arlathan. We elvhen warred amongst ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.”

“Wait, that’s not right,” Dorian interjected, confused, as it was at odds with the rhetoric all of Thedas believed in, the history that Tevinter prided itself upon. “What are you saying?”

“You would not know truth,” Abelas said. “ _Shemlen_ history is as short as the pool of your years.”

“What did the Imperium do, then?” Dorian asked. Jasper could see the emotion in his eyes as his world was tipped on its side. “Are you saying it _wasn’t_ a war?”

“The ‘war’ of carrion feasting upon a corpse, yes,” Abelas mocked dismissively. “We awaken only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The _vir’abelasan_ must be preserved.”

“‘The Place of the Way of Sorrows,’” Morrigan translated in an undertone. “He speaks of the Well!”

“I know what you seek,” Abelas continued. “You seek to drink from the _vir’abelasan_ , like everyone who has come here before you. But it is _not_ for you. It is not for _any_ of you.”

Jasper took a step forward, and heard the quiet twang of bowstrings as arrows were trained upon him from the shadows to the sides. “We did not come here to fight you, nor to steal from your temple. We need to protect the Well from our enemies.”

Abelas was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke. “I believe you. Trespassers you are, but you have followed the rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them.”

Well, thank the Maker that Morrigan had bullied Jasper into completing those stupid puzzles. Otherwise they’d really be up shit creek without a paddle. There were five of them, and who knew how many archers in the shadows?

But Abelas wasn’t done. “When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart...and never return.”

“Consider carefully,” Morrigan murmured to him. “You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own.”

Jasper could sense the others subtly assuming a defensive position around him, but he was sure that this elf could see it. He could see Jasper’s hesitation and indecision. Jasper didn’t want to kill these people, senseless as it was, but he couldn’t agree to these terms. Of course, that was what lying was for, and he truly didn’t know a better liar or actor than himself.

“Alright, Abelas,” Jasper said, trying to affect a totally calm demeanor and pose. “We can work together.”

Abelas’ face betrayed nothing, but Jasper had the feeling that this wary elf did not believe him. “You will be guided to those you seek. As for the _vir’abelasan_...it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

“No!” Morrigan cried as the elf disappeared into the shadows once more.

“Morrigan!” Jasper shouted, but it was too late. In a flash of purple light, she had transformed herself from human to bird. In the form of a crow, she flew off after Abelas, leaving the rest of them alone with the elves.

By some stroke of luck, the remaining elves did not attack them. They didn’t seem to care about Morrigan. Or perhaps their faith was so great in their leader that they did not believe he would fail. They did not think Morrigan would succeed in stopping him.

An elf more ancient than Abelas crept forward, stooped under their hood and clinging to a walking stick. In their other hand, they clutched an ancient tome that must’ve been ages old when these elves were first sealed away. The elf stared at them with milky eyes and jerked their head to indicate that Jasper and his companions should follow as the ancient elf hobbled out of the chamber and into another. With a shrug, Jasper followed them.

“Morrigan will probably use the Well for herself,” Cassandra guessed, her tone bitter. “We should not have trusted her.”

Jasper sighed. “Look, as long as Corypheus doesn’t get it, can we complain? If we’re lucky, Morrigan might gain something that can be used to help us.”

They could hear distant sounds of fighting as the elf led them through the maze that was the temple, opening doors that moments prior had only been blank stretches of stone wall. The last door opened out onto a veranda overlooking a cast courtyard, in the light of day once again. A bird cawed its irritation as they disturbed its roosting on the balcony. Vines and plants had reclaimed this space.

They raced down the steps, their elven guide hobbling back into the sanctuary, leaving them. Jasper could see the red glow of lyrium monsters, men and women who were once templars, in the courtyard below. They were battling the Sentinels, though it was hardly fair to call it a battle when the ancient elves were so obviously outmatched by the behemoth strength and powers of these blighted humans.

And there was Samson, among his men, congratulating them on pillaging the temple and murdering the elves. Jasper’s anger flared as they bolted into the courtyard, interrupting Samson’s little speech he was giving to his men. The templars pointed at them, raising their weapons, but Samson seemed unbothered.

“Well, if it isn’t the Inquisitor,” Samson sneered. “You’ve got a damned long reach. We come to the backend of nowhere, and here you are.”

“Well, it’s scenic, isn’t it?” Jasper conceded, swatting a mosquito from his face. “Now give it up, Samson. It’s over. Surrender, and, unfortunately, you’ll face judgment. Not my first choice, really, but Cullen and the others want you alive.”

Samson snorted. “You really think you’re something impressive, don’t you? But Corypheus chose me _twice_ \- first as his general, now as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows. You don’t know what’s inside the well, do you, Inquisitor?” Jasper hated that he was right, hated that Samson knew he was right. “Wisdom. The kind that could scour an entire world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor.”

Jasper drew his daggers. “Pity you’re never getting your grimy paws on that Well.”

Samson smirked and flexed, corrupted and unnatural power radiating from him in waves. His armor was literally glowing. “ _This_ is the strength the Chantry tried to bind. But it’s a new world now. With a new god. I will bring Corypheus the power of the Well and your head, all at once. So, Inquisitor, how will this go?”

Jasper twirled his daggers. “Oh, you mean the easy way or the hard way? I’ll leave that up to you, Samson. You see…” Jasper sheathed his daggers as he rummaged in his pockets. Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian were staring at him like he’d grown a third eye. “Oh, where did I put it now...I just had it a minute ago, I promise.” Then he drew out from his pocket the rune stone that Dagna had crafted. “Ah! Here it is!”

He held the rune aloft and it started to spark and shine, sucking the light from Samson’s armor until it glowed no more. Samson screamed out in shock and pain as it brought him to his hands and knees. Tremors racked his body like he was convulsing. Slowly, as if it required great effort, he hauled himself back to his feet, but he was trembling.

“My armor...it’s gone!” he cried. Well, that wasn’t true. It just was nothing more than steel plate. “The lyrium - I _need_ it! Kill them all!”

Jasper drew his blades and tried to leap after Samson, but the monstrous red templars blocked his path and forced him back, swinging their huge arms and their enormous swords. It made Jasper forget that at one time, these were some of the best soldiers in Thedas. Now they seemed to wield their swords as nothing more than clubs, shields forgotten to the wayside. As if they’d forgotten in all their rage what self-preservation meant, and their only goal now was to maim and destroy, fueled by the corruption of the red lyrium.

Samson didn’t run, though. With the same sixth sense that Florianne seemed to have had, he targeted Dorian doggedly, swinging his greatsword in sweeping arcs that kept pushing Dorian back, further away from backup.

When Florianne had hurt Dorian, Jasper had been overwhelmed by the feeling of fear that had enveloped him. He’d lost all logic and had felt utterly powerless to help him. And he refused to feel like that again. He would not fail Dorian again.

One of the behemoths charged him again and he slid to one side and landed in a crouch. He then launched himself up at the monster’s side, daggers raised to pierce the gap in the red tumor covering it in organic armor. The blades, instead of glancing off the armor, sank into something soft at the gap in its neck, something fleshy, something still human. Jasper twisted the daggers, crossing them back over each other, wrenching with all his might through the spinal cord. The snap was sickening, but the head was severed and the monster no longer moved.

Jasper swiped the blood out of his eyes and charged Samson, his path now unobstructed as Cassandra and Varric kept the other red templars busy. “Hey, fuckface!” he shouted at Samson’s back, swinging his daggers at his well-armored back. “Back the fuck off!”

Samson whirled and parried Jasper away, unbalancing him, pressing his advantage as Jasper scrambled to regain his footing. Samson brought his sword down toward Jasper’s head, but Jasper blocked with his crossed daggers, grunting with the effort. Samson leaned in close, and for a moment Jasper thought his legs would buckle beneath him and this would be it; this would be the end. But a spell hit Samson’s armor and he lurched backwards, cursing, giving Jasper a moment to recover before pressing forward again, hacking mercilessly at the former templar. Then Dorian swung his staff in a wide arc, glyphs glowing at their feet, and blasted Samson backwards through the air. His sword flew through the air and skittered away across the stone. His head bounced off the stone as he landed, and he looked dazed, weak, barely able to open his eyes. An act? Jasper approached cautiously, daggers pointed at Samson.

“The Well…” Samson mumbled, sagging to the side. His eyes were crossed and there was blood on his forehead. “You mustn’t…” Then he drooped to the ground, unmoving.

Cassandra knelt beside him, Jasper’s daggers still drawn as she examined him. “He’s still breathing,” she announced in astonishment.

Jasper tsk’d and sheathed his daggers. “What a persistent little bugger. Whatever. Cullen said if we got him alive, to bring him back to Skyhold for judgment. It’s his mess now.”

Varric opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the crackle of magic in the air. Jasper spun around to see the elf Abelas sprinting past them from a camouflaged side chamber he must’ve used to navigate the temple without worry of running into the templars. A crow was flying after him, cawing angrily as he ran. There was a raised plateau above them, and as Abelas ran toward it, stone steps appeared at his feet magically, glowing blue, leading up. Jasper took off after him, shouting for him and Morrigan to just stop for one fucking moment. But of course neither listened to him, he was just the savior of the world, after all.

At the top of the floating steps was a vast pool of water, perfectly circular and crystalline. Abelas came to a stop as Morrigan dropped from the sky, morphing from bird to human. A few feathers fell at her feet as she faced off with Abelas, standing between him and the pool. Jasper skidded to a halt behind Abelas; Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric were just behind him.

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor!” Morrigan panted. “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”

Abelas backed away from them both, to the side. Jasper circled around to stand near Morrigan. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.” His tone was accusatory, full of a quiet rage and...disappointment. In himself, it seemed.

“You would’ve destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan reminded him angrily.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers!” Abelas countered, pointing at them with distaste. “Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.”

“Samson was going to use the Well to help Corypheus,” Jasper snapped. “I’m all for destroying ancient elven artifacts, it’s rather a pastime of mine, but we could probably use it to _stop_ Corypheus, or at least gain insight into his next plan.”

Abelas sneered. “You are not one of us. I care nothing for your petty conflicts.”

Jasper snorted. “You’ll care when Corypheus comes for the Well, and destroys the world as we know it.”

“Do you even know what you ask?” Abelas said, and now he sounded truly at the end, his voice heavy. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on...through this. All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever if drunk from.”

Abelas looked so desperate for him to understand, but Jasper couldn’t. He couldn’t understand how Abelas was content to lock himself away forever, protecting what was essentially a library that no one was ever allowed access to. He couldn’t understand how Abelas didn’t understand the threat on his doorstep, how he ignored it and refused to address it. Jasper wasn’t sure what he could do with this accumulated knowledge, but he knew that Corypheus would destroy _everything_ with it, if given the chance: all elves, all humans, all life. There was no point in protecting something holy if it meant sacrificing everything.

“Oh, hon,” Jasper said. “It’s already been lost.”

“Our duty is all that remains,” Abelas insisted. “Those who drank from the _vir’abelasan_ paid a great price, bound to the will of Mythal for all eternity.”

Jasper crossed his arms. “Again, with Mythal? How could you be bound to someone who, quite possibly, never existed? And even if she did, she was just a powerful mage; not an immortal deity, not an entity you could be chained to forever. Do you really believe she was a god?”

Abelas’ face turned dark as he considered Jasper, then Morrigan. “To you, it shall make no difference.”

He stuck his hand out and, in a cloud of smoke, blasted Morrigan and Jasper off their feet. Jasper was dazed, but as he rolled to the side he saw that his other companions had also been thrown. Then Abelas turned to face the Well and raised his arms as if lifting a great burden, and the water began to swirl, rising up out of the pool at his command like a great vortex. Jasper crawled to his knees and watched Morrigan creep behind Abelas, unbalanced, yet present enough to slip her knife between his shoulder blades. Abelas froze, the water sloshing down into the pool, and he fell forward, a shocked expression on his face.

“ _Mythal sulevin_ ,” were his final words.

“Stubborn fool,” Morrigan spat, shaking her head regretfully.

“What would you have done, backed into a corner like that?” Dorian challenged as he rose to his feet, staring in disbelief at Morrigan. His eyes darted to Abelas’ unmoving body.

“And what if the Well was destroyed?” Morrigan shot back icily. “Or the entire temple? Are you so eager to die for sympathy’s sake?”

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, his hands balled into fists, but Jasper hastily stepped between them. “What’s done is done,” he said to them both. “I’m the last person in the world to judge Morrigan’s actions. And you can’t deny that we need the Well if we’re to stop Corypheus.” He glanced toward Abelas’ body. “He did what he felt was right, and Morrigan did what she felt was right. Let’s move on from this.”

Dorian gave Jasper an angry look and Jasper made a face back at him. What was he supposed to do now? Just leave the Well for Corypheus? At this point, there was nothing to be done except to take advantage of it before Corypheus could.

They turned to face the pool of water. On the other side of the pool, about ten yards away, was a shimmering mirror taller than any man. Morrigan smirked smugly. “You’ll notice the intact eluvian? I was correct on _that_ count, at least.”

“Okay, but is it still a threat?” Jasper asked, skirting around the edge of the pool. “Can Corypheus still use it to enter the Fade?”

“You’ll remember how in the Crossroads I told you each eluvian requires a key?” she prompted him, sounding a tad like a schoolmarm. “The Well _is_ the key. Take its power, and Mythal’s last eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.”

Oh. So two birds, one stone. The eluvian _and_ the ancient elven artifact both handled, all at once. Delightful.

Morrigan stared out at the pool, the look in her yellow eyes almost...fearful. She spoke almost as if to herself, quietly, though her voice carried in the stunningly silent courtyard. “I did not expect the Well to feel so...hungry.”

Oh no. Jasper didn’t know much about magic or ancient elven artifacts, but he didn’t think they were supposed to feel “hungry.” He studied Morrigan’s profile peripherally. “Is that...good or bad?”

Morrigan blinked as if she’d been listening to something else and just realized Jasper was talking to her. She looked him in the eye. “I’m willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

Cassandra stepped forward, laying her hand on Jasper’s shoulder, as if reminding him to show caution and restraint. “I do not like this, Jasper. She is far too eager.”

The look Morrigan gave Cassandra was one of disdain. “I do not hide it. To restore lost knowledge, I would risk much.”

“And what would you do with it?” Cassandra challenged. “You could be worse than Corypheus.”

“So you would paralyze yourself for fear of what might be?” Morrigan countered. “I can give nothing but my word.”

Jasper shrugged. “We have other mages - well, a mage - with us.” He glanced at Dorian, but Dorian shook his head once, as if the idea of this mystical lost knowledge frightened him. Or perhaps the idea of being tied to some mysterious entity. Jasper couldn’t blame him. There was something menacing about this Well and the ominous threat of “sweet sacrifice of duty.” Though perhaps it was the temptation of the Well and all that arcane knowledge that Dorian feared, rather than the knowledge or sacrifice itself. “Or, well, who says only a mage can use the Well?”

They all stared at Jasper. He noticed how still Dorian had become suddenly, the worried look Varric shot the elf. Jasper stood up taller, Morrigan staring him down. He would not blink. Admittedly, he didn’t want the Well. He didn’t want any of that magical ancient elf bullshit. He didn’t want _knowledge_. Maybe that made him an ignoramus or a Neanderthal. But he’d never needed knowledge like this to survive, and he had survived. At least until now. With Corypheus as a threat, knowledge was their only solution, and it was obvious Jasper was not the best suited, even if his pride smarted.

Jasper stared at the Well, and he fancied he could almost hear a whisper in the back of his mind, utterly unintelligible but there all the same. He glanced over at Dorian and gnawed his lip as he considered. Though he seemed to be trying to hide it, there was fear in Dorian’s eyes, in his posture, as if he were tensed to run and grab Jasper and toss him over his shoulder, if Jasper chose to drink from the Well. Nobody knew what would happen when one of them drank from it. After all, “sorrows” wasn’t really a reassuring term.

Jasper let out a heavy sigh, standing tall as he looked Morrigan in the eye. “Okay. Go ahead. Drink from the Well. Maybe it’ll taste like fruit punch.”

Morrigan looked genuinely shocked at Jasper’s decision, as if she were sure he’d be stubborn enough to take it for himself. And yeah, he was tempted, just because, like, why not. He usually didn’t think things through this thoroughly. Then Morrigan nodded, steeling herself, and slowly stepped toward the Well. Her footsteps were silent in the still courtyard.

The water rippled as she waded into it hesitantly, cautiously. From the first step, a blue light seemed to emanate from where the water met her, then swirled up over her arms and legs. She gained confidence, striding deeper into the pool, though at its greatest depth it only reached her hips. She turned back to look at them and smiled at Jasper before dunking herself into the pool, completely submerging herself. Though the water was clear as crystal, Jasper couldn’t see her beneath the strong blue light that shone from her. Then it rose, blinding Jasper and the others, until the force of whatever ancient magic was happening caused an almighty wave of water to surge away from Morrigan in a shockwave, drenching them all as it broached its borders.

Jasper sputtered and swiped water out of his eyes. Morrigan lay in the center of the mosaic tiles lining the bottom of the Well, all the water utterly gone. She was flat on her back and wasn’t moving. Jasper’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Morrigan!” Jasper cried, jumping into the basin and running to Morrigan’s side. She stirred slightly as Jasper reached her, smokey remnants of the magic still swirling around her limbs. Then she sat up suddenly with a rattling gasp and started spewing nonsensical words as she touched her face, her arms, staring around wildly like she couldn’t remember where she was or how she got there.

“That’s...fluent Elvhen,” Dorian said, shocked, jumping into the empty pool after Jasper. “Remarkable.”

Jasper helped Morrigan to her feet, and she was unsteady for a moment as everything seemed to come back to her and she regained her bearings. She shrugged off Jasper’s hand as she looked around at them, seeming back to herself. “I...I am intact,” she insisted, nodding as if to assure herself more than them. She took a few steps away, her legs losing their wobble. She kept glancing around as if there was something there she couldn’t quite lock eyes on. “There...is much to sift through. But now we can…”

Her words trailed off as dark mist started to rise from the stones at her feet, ensconcing her. Jasper moved closer to her, concerned, but a part of him was relieved he was finally the one who hadn’t done the freaky shit. Then Morrigan’s eyes widened, and she pointed to the balcony on the other side of the courtyard, where Jasper and his companions had rushed through earlier. Jasper turned. He grit his teeth and subdued a growl. There stood the twisted form of Corypheus, finally caught up to them. And he did not look happy at all.

He shouted when he saw them standing in the empty pool, the magical mist dissipating around Morrigan. Then he rose on a cloud of black smoke and glided toward them. Well, glide wasn’t the right term. He was moving much too fast to be gliding.

“That little fucker can _fly_ now?” Jasper shouted in alarm, a cold finger of dread stroking down his spine as he beheld what was, arguably, one of the most terrifying things he’d ever seen. And he’s seen a lot.

“The eluvian!” Morrigan cried, flinging her hand toward it. In a burst of bright blue magical energy, the eluvian came to life.

“Run!” Jasper screamed, shoving Varric and Cassandra toward the mirror. They sprinted across the empty basin to the mirror. Jasper paused beside it, waving the others through, and he was struck by a sudden sense of deja vu. He saw himself in Haven, suddenly, standing at the door of the chantry, ushering wounded villagers through the doors as they cowered from Corypheus’ first attack.

“Jasper!”

He hadn’t realized he was frozen, rooted to the spot as he watched the evil figure of Corypheus approach, face twisted with rage. He turned to stare at Dorian, eyes wide and blank with abject terror. He looked back toward Corypheus, and couldn’t believe his eyes. He must be seeing things, though he’d been sober for weeks. A geyser seemed to burst through the dry tile floor of the Well, rising high in a wall of water. A woman was inside, wreathed in magic, floating, facing Corypheus.

“Jasper!” Dorian shouted again. He grabbed Jasper’s hand and leapt into the mirror, pulling the elf after him, even as Jasper stared back as Corypheus charged through the woman in the water. Then his vision went black as he was sucked into the eluvian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god have i mentioned how in love i am with morrigan???? like deadass alternate love story: jasper and morrigan.
> 
> ok also i think when i finish posting this story, i'm probably going to go back through and change some things and add some things. like some scenes, things i don't think i resolved well, things i wish i had added or changed. i'm probably gonna rewrite all the smut scenes bc i feel like i could do better and kinkier tbh i'm just bad at writing smut esp kinky smut bc it makes me so embarrassed to share it lmaoooo like i've written all the sex scenes at least twice, first really fucking disgusting and then going back through and toning it down because i'm like "i can't post THIS" but i think yall deserve the dumb boi nasty shit
> 
> also i wrote an outline for a band au and great googly moogly it's so angsty and sad!!!! but i think it'll be better in practice idk. anyway!!!! we almost there bois!!!!
> 
> psa i'm still debating whether or not i'm gonna write a trespasser epilogue or nah. i do have some "post-inquisition" stories i want to share, but i think i might entirely skip trespasser oop bc like, other than the dorian bits there's nothing i really want to write about. so we shall see what awaits us all!! give me ideas :)))


	30. idk

The mirror in that dusty little closet in Skyhold spat them out again. It might’ve been minutes later, or maybe hours or weeks. Jasper couldn't tell. It was dark outside, and the closet was lit only by the light of the eerily glowing eluvian. Jasper and Dorian were the last ones through, still clutching each other’s hands like a lifeline. Morrigan did a quick headcount to make sure the five of them had made it through in one piece, then raised her arms to power off the magic mirror. The room went dark as the eluvian lost its glow.

“It is done,” Morrigan said quietly, looking troubled.

“What’s to stop that piece of shit from coming after us?” Jasper gasped, his voice an octave higher than it usually was. He couldn’t seem to find the ability to let go of Dorian’s hand.

“I hold the key to this side,” Morrigan assured him. “And...I saw a figure at the temple, as we were fleeing. I believe it, whatever it was, destroyed the eluvian at the Well of Sorrows. We should be safe.”

“Oh, goodie,” Jasper said shakily. He felt like his legs were going to go out from under him at any moment, but he didn’t want to collapse in front of his friends. “Reassuring. Really.”

The others shared a look, which Jasper ignored. Cassandra murmured something about writing to the council. The rest quickly disappeared from the closet, heading back to...whatever it was they would do now. Sleeping. Bathing. Crying quietly in their private spaces where no one could see and pity.

When it was just Jasper and Dorian, Jasper let go of Dorian’s hand, unclenching his fingers carefully as if he held a live bomb. Then he took a deep breath, let it go, and marched out from the room like the last day had been a bad pipe dream.

There were very few people at Skyhold currently; the usual nobles that haunted the main hall were gathered in the Arbor Wilds still with the bulk of Inquisition forces. Jasper felt relieved by the solitude, but also vulnerable without the comforting hum of the small village that was Skyhold. He hurried through the halls and rushed up the stairs of his room. Then he threw open the windows of his balcony, a gust of chilly mountain air rushing into the blank spaces around him. He stood there, in the freezing night, gulping down lungfuls of air, as if not quite believing he was still alive after all. Desperate to keep breathing, to enjoy every heaving inhale and stuttering exhale.

The door to his chambers opened and closed, and quiet footsteps walked up the stairs. He didn’t need to look behind him to know it was Dorian; first, Dorian was the only one who would enter Jasper’s private rooms like this; second, Jasper recognized Dorian’s footfalls. He could sense the mage behind him, but they were both silent for a long, long moment.

“What were you thinking?” Dorian said finally, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I’ll need you to be a bit more specific, dear,” Jasper replied tersely, staring out at the dark mountains. The water was pulling back, gathering in a powerful swell that he was trying very carefully to keep dammed up.

“You - by the eluvian -” Dorian stopped and took a breath. He rarely spluttered so inarticulately. “You just stopped. You stood there and stared as Corypheus approached. Like a statue. What were you doing? You could’ve died! He would’ve killed you! Right on the precipice of escape.”

“I don’t know,” Jasper admitted quietly, his voice barely carrying to Dorian as the water rose and rose.

Dorian scoffed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

The dam gave way. “I don’t know!” Jasper screamed, his voice ringing in the quiet room and off the panes of glass and off into the mountainside. He hardly recognized his own voice; it wasn’t just a wall of water rushing through him right now, it was the terrified instinct of a wild animal. An animal that had been cornered and had nearly been killed. A deer when it met the eyes of its hunter, the arrow aimed directly at its side.

Jasper whirled on his heel to face Dorian, fists balled at his sides, eyes burning. “I froze! Okay? I - I know I’ve faced some horrible, life-or-death situations before, but...this was _different_ , Dorian. Corypheus isn’t just another - another red templar, or Venatori, or demon to be put down. He’s a _monster_ , Dorian, he’s nigh immortal, and he was staring _right at me_ , right into my eyes. I was scared, and _I_ _froze_.”

He sounded almost hysterical at the end of his venting. He felt nauseous. Dorian was blurry around the edges, and Jasper blinked away tears he hadn’t realized were gathering along his lower lashline. He turned away again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots, lips pressed so tightly together that his piercing protested angrily, digging into his upper lip. He tensed when he felt Dorian’s hands on his arms.

“It’s okay, _amatus_ ,” Dorian murmured gently, voice full of tender affection and concern as he slowly wrapped his arms around Jasper, pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay. I was scared, too. I was scared for a moment that you were going to drink from the Well and be changed by it. I’m immensely relieved you didn’t, you know. And I was scared of Corypheus, too. We all were. But what frightened me more than Corypheus, my love, was the thought of losing you. You just stood there, and for a moment I thought you were going to let Corypheus come at you. That you would either let him strike you down finally, or that you would try and face off with him once and for all. And those ideas terrified me.”

Jasper turned in Dorian’s arms and pressed his face to his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his robes. His face was all twisted with the effort of trying not to cry like a little baby, but Dorian couldn’t see it, of course. “I can’t do this, Dorian. I - I can’t. I’m not strong enough, or fast enough, or brave enough. There’s no way in hell I could possibly fight him, much less defeat him. And yet I have no other fucking choice, because everyone in the Inquisition - everyone in _Thedas_ \- is depending on me and expecting me to somehow save the day and stop Corypheus. But I know I won’t succeed. I’ll die, Dorian, and he’ll just sweep me aside and tear open the Fade. He’s fucking immortal, for pity’s sake! What am _I_ supposed to _do_?”

Dorian’s arms tightened, and he stroked a hand up and down Jasper’s back soothingly. “That’s what we’re here for, _amatus_. You won’t face Corypheus alone. You have an army at your side, and your friends. Besides, there has to be _something_ from that Well that Morrigan can use to figure out how to kill the bastard.”

Jasper laughed weakly and waterily into Dorian’s chest, having finally lost the fight with his tears. His stilted chuckle turned into a sob as he cleaved to Dorian, all the pent-up fear and anxiety and anger of the last _year_ crashing into Jasper suddenly like a tidal wave after pulling back and pulling back for so long. He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten onto the bed, but he was grateful, because the weight of the world on his shoulders sometimes made it hard to stand at all, and he was sure his legs would’ve given out if he’d had to keep standing.

He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped crying or when he’d fallen asleep, exactly, but for once in his miserable existence, he slept like a dwarf: No dreams plagued him tonight, safe in the embrace of his love, even if it was only a temporary reprieve.

***  
There was something truly divine, almost ethereal, about the way Dorian read his books. The way he sat in the comfy wing-backed chair in the library, sprawled on the cushions. The crease between his eyebrows as he concentrated, his long fingers holding the book at an angle, the way he crossed one leg over the other. The coziness of his little alcove, the way the light slanted through the windows and illuminated him. It caught the undertones of bronze in his dark hair. When the light hit just right, his gray eyes looked almost translucent.

That was how Jasper found him a few days later. It was late afternoon, and Dorian had retreated to his nook. It was unusually quiet, the bulk of the Inquisition army still trekking back to Skyhold. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the window. As Jasper approached, he saw that Dorian’s eyes weren’t moving, they weren’t roving the pages; he was thinking, merely using the book as a prop. Jasper didn’t want to disturb him, but he seemed to sense the elf was near. He looked up from the book, his expression still one of concentration. Jasper stopped a few feet away, studying Dorian as the mage studied him.

“What happened at the elven temple…” Dorian began, lowering his book. His tone was light, calm, purposefully so. Jasper could sense that something was troubling Dorian. “It’s got me thinking.”

“Oh no,” Jasper quipped, smirking a little, arms crossed loosely as he leaned against the bookshelves. “Heaven help us.”

Except for a little indulgent smile, Dorian continued like Jasper hadn’t said anything, though his voice was softer. “I should go back, shouldn’t I? To Tevinter. Once this is all done. If we survive.”

Jasper froze. He watched as Dorian set the book aside, not even marking his place in it, and stood up, taking a step closer to Jasper. Had he heard him right? Surely not. He...he couldn’t understand it. Back? To Tevinter? Why? He waited for Dorian to say “sike,” but instead he went on, elaborating.

“All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it?” Dorian mused aloud. “Nothing.”

Jasper stared at him hard. Honestly, he didn’t know how to reply to that. What was he supposed to say? “Dorian, what does this have to do with the elven temple?”

Dorian sighed heavily. “It was history, right there, staring us in the face.” He sounded almost angry. Maybe frustrated. And determined, always determined, as if anything were attainable. It was one of the things Jasper loved most about him. “Maybe my people can atone for what we’ve done. There is something still left to restore. Maybe not all of us want to, but that could be altered. If you can change minds...then so can I.”

Oh. He had a point, of course. He always did. And Jasper got it. It was hard to sit around and not do anything. As much as he appreciated the lull in running around and getting shit done all the time, Jasper also resented it. He wanted to be hunting down templars and Venatori, he wanted to be planning for an assault on Corypheus, not waiting for their next move. But until Morrigan figured out her scheme to challenge Corypheus’ immortality, there wasn’t much to prepare for yet. Of course Dorian wanted to do something to change things. Of course he wanted to help his people. Jasper understood it, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Jasper licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat a little, stomping down on the suddenly raging emotions in his gut. _Tevinter_. “I see.” He knew what he and Dorian had was too good to last. He knew it was only a matter of time. Dorian was a _doer_ , not just an academic or a pretty face. He knew that Dorian would never be happy to just sit around as Jasper’s lovely housewife, as much as they joked about it. But that didn’t mean Jasper had to like it.

“What about…” Jasper licked his lips again. His mind was buzzing, his body tense as if he were about to enter a dragon’s lair. He was putting in a lot of effort to control his emotions. He wanted to burst like a supernova, but he knew that was childish and immature, and so unfair to Dorian. “What about us, Dorian? Are you...just going to leave, then? When things are done?”

“Us?” Dorian repeated, as if it were a foreign term. That single word was a dagger into Jasper’s heart. He could see the pain in Dorian’s eyes, but his tone didn’t seem to reflect it properly. “Believe me, _amatus_ , it would give me no pleasure to leave your side.”

Jasper turned away and crossed to the window, putting distance between them. He bit his lip. How could Dorian say something like that? So plainly, so matter-of-factly, so emotionlessly. Like he’d rehearsed it. Which he probably had. He’d been thinking about this for weeks, probably. Figuring out how to break it to Jasper. Trying to minimize the blow, like casting a shield spell over someone even as you handed them a live barrel of gaatlok.

“You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world,” Dorian explained earnestly. “How can I not consider some of my own?”

Jasper put a hand to his temple, rubbing it with his fingertips. He sighed, staring out the window but not really seeing anything. Of course. Everything Dorian said made sense. It was all the sort of stuff Jasper had thought about, that eventually Dorian would become fidgety and agitated with their situation. Stagnant. Jasper being the leader, Dorian being the follower. Especially once this was all said and done and there were no more bad guys to face. It would kill Dorian. Doing nothing meaningful. Being away from Tevinter. Jasper knew how much his homeland meant to him. He knew Dorian would be unhappy after a while, but this was something he had contentedly ignored, pretending like it was far away.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Jasper murmured after a moment, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. Low and gravelly as he tried to control the emotions roiling inside him. Some anger, some resentment, some disappointment. Some fear. And the reality he had accepted a long time ago, that happiness was not something he was meant to have for long. His karma was to experience it in intense fits and bursts, in fleeting grasps before the straw house finally collapsed.

“Then when, _amatus_?” Dorian asked, and he sounded a little closer now, trying to close the distance between them, but Jasper could feel it palpably. It wasn’t just physical, this space between them. It was a fissure that would only grow hungrily, feeding on their conflicting desires and the unfair reality of the situation.

Jasper swallowed and turned to face him again. He made an attempt to school his expression into one of indifference, or acceptance, anything except for the uncomfortable pain that was so patently scrawled across his features. He had no doubts that Dorian was not fooled by his half-assed poker face.

“I’ll go with you, then,” Jasper decided, even though the idea of Tevinter - living in Tevinter, being around Tevinters constantly, speaking Tevene, being immersed in their culture - made him want to drain a pub. Still. He’d had his time to change things, and if this was what Dorian wanted, then it was his turn, and Jasper would follow him. By Andraste, he’d follow him anywhere, even to the Void and back.

Dorian looked at him sadly. “And take you away from all of this? I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not,” Jasper told him, wishing he could read Dorian’s thoughts and emotions right now. “I’m offering.”

Dorian’s lips quirked in a half-hearted smile. “Tempting. But we both know you’d end up doing it all yourself. As much as watching my homeland being beaten into submission would amuse me, this is something _I_ need to do.”

Maker, there it was, that glorious conviction and determination. Jasper closed his eyes a moment, enjoying it, that hard tone Dorian’s voice took when he had decided on something. It wasn’t directed at Jasper, of course; it was no remonstration. He was telling himself that this was his job to do. His calling. Even if it wasn’t fair.

Jasper wished he were anywhere else in the world right now. He’d take Haven all over again, fighting Corypheus and his dragon, over this conversation. Over what he knew he had to say eventually. Over what he wanted to say.

“Okay,” Jasper said quietly, barely a whisper. It hurt to say. “Go, then.”

Dorian took another half step closer. He huffed a little chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere yet, _amatus_. I told you I would see this through, and I meant it, of course. I’m a man of my word.”

“You told me you’d always be by my side,” Jasper recalled, his voice still unnaturally quiet. “You gave your word then, too. I...Dorian...I can’t do this without you.”

Dorian looked pained as he glanced away and then back. “I know. And I will be with you, even if it is not physically. I will _always_ have your back in everything you do. I _will_ be there when you need me, Jasper. Though you’re stronger than I’ll ever be.”

“I’m not, though,” Jasper disagreed. “Not strong enough for this.” He gestured between them, whatever was between them now. Whatever would continue to exist _after_.

“You are,” Dorian insisted. “And this is _your_ fault, you know. You always inspire me with your marvelous antics. You’re shaping the world, for good or ill. How could I aspire to do any less? If it means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there’s hope even for my homeland? I would do anything.”

Jasper sighed. “I know, Dorian. And I don’t want to hold you back. I...it was never my intention to be a burden like that. Or to restrain you from accomplishing your dreams. It’s just...this has been a dream for me, you and I. That sounds stupid and sappy, but I mean it. And I always knew it could never last. That one day, I would...wake up. Fate doesn’t approve of me being happy for too long, it seems. At least I won’t have to kill you. Hopefully.”

It was meant to sound lighthearted, but it was too true to be funny. Dorian touched Jasper’s chin, fingers sliding along his skin to cup his cheek. Jasper pressed into it greedily, wondering how many moments like this they had left. Part of him, however, wanted to pull away and push Dorian far, far away, away from his fragile little heart. He resisted the urge, because he didn’t think he could bear to hurt Dorian like that right now, not when they were both so vulnerable.

“We don’t have to stop loving each other, you know,” Dorian remarked, his gray eyes so earnest as he gazed into Jasper’s eyes. “Aspects of our relationship will change, but that doesn’t mean it’s over.”

Jasper sighed and pulled away. “You really believe that?”

“I do.”

The words were so simple. And they were honest, too. Jasper wanted to scoff, but more than that he wanted to believe. He wanted to have that faith that Dorian had, that things would work out and they would...continue. But it was impossible, and they both knew that, even if they denied it ardently. But for now, at least, they could pretend otherwise.

“Okay.”

Jasper allowed himself to be drawn into Dorian’s embrace. He wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, resting the side of his face against his shoulder. Dorian was warm. He was solid. He was Jasper’s rock. Jasper tried not to think about how temporary it all was, how temporary it had all been. They had this moment, at least.

***  
It wasn’t Dorian’s fault, of course, but there went nearly two months of sobriety out the window. Jasper had just felt so overwhelmed with everything - Blackwall’s betrayal, seeing Corypheus so close and barely escaping, Dorian’s bombshell - that he didn’t know how else to cope. He didn’t know what to _do_ except to drop by Adan’s apothecary and hope the man still stocked Jasper’s - ah - medication.

Adan hid his surprise and judgment well, at least. Jasper took his pre-rolls and found a lonely, forlorn tower in a sad little corner of the keep. One that was in such poor disrepair that it had been left as it was, since it was worth less than the materials needed to repair it. Jasper was glad for that now. At least here, he could be alone.

He’d smoked through half a joint when he heard someone picking their way through the rubble. Jasper smirked a little bit. This was just where he belonged, wasn’t it? Amongst ruins, left to age and crumble alone. He’d expected Cole, honestly, maybe Sera, or Varric. He was shocked to see Cullen approaching him, but there were others that Jasper would be even more shocked to see. Like Vivienne, honestly, he couldn’t remember if they’d ever had a maskless conversation. Not that he could blame her; that was her protection.

“Commander,” Jasper greeted on an exhale, smoke trailing from his lips. “Howdy.”

Cullen nodded and lowered himself down beside Jasper so they were sitting side by side on the ledge of the crumbled tower. Maybe not the safest position, with their legs dangling over the edge, but who cared? Cullen groaned, his aching muscles protesting the movement. Jasper grinned.

“Old man,” he teased. “You smoke?”

Cullen shook his head. “I, ah, would rather not replace one addiction with another. Or dependency, or...however you want to look at it.”

Jasper nodded. “Respect. What can I do you for?”

Cullen looked a little uncomfortable, a pinkish tinge to his pale cheeks as he stared out at the mountain peaks below them. “I wanted to share something with you, Inquisitor. Jasper. I...you know I was at Kinloch Hold during the Blight. When...the tower fell to abominations. But before that, I was a much different person. It was my first position after training. I was young. Nineteen. And there was this girl...a mage. Her name was Darcie. She was an apprentice, about my age, just shy of her Harrowing when it all happened. But before that, I was sweet on her. And in the end, she succumbed to the demons of the Fade, and I...I killed her.”

Jasper sighed. He hadn’t realized how similar his own story was to Cullen’s, in its way. Kind of a bummer to kill the person you loved, or thought you loved, or whatever. “That fucking sucks, man. Did Leliana or Dorian put you up to this?”

Cullen shook his head. “Dorian and I talk, sometimes, over our games of chess. He’s a friend to me, Jasper. He’d talked for some time of returning to Tevinter, eventually. And the way you two have been acting lately, I realized…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “And, yes, I’ve read the file Leliana has on you, of course. I know about your history.

“But I wanted to give you strength and encouragement, Jasper,” Cullen told him as he fiddled with a gold worry coin. The face on it had been worn nearly entirely away. “If I could do things differently...if Darcie had survived...I would’ve done anything and everything for her, if I had had the chance. Even now, with death between us, she is in my thoughts. She is in my actions, for good or bad. She reminds me now, after so many years of fear, to act with compassion, not hatred. I would much rather prefer a country or two between us than…”

Cullen trailed off, the obvious hanging in the air between them. A gentle remonstration and a hope for the future. Jasper sucked down another breath. “But she didn’t _choose_ to leave you, Cullen,” Jasper protested, his eyes stinging.

“Does Dorian really have a choice?” Cullen countered. “Wouldn’t he grow to resent you, always living in your shadow?”

Jasper felt the tears streaking down his cheeks, chilling instantly against his skin in the brisk wind. “You’re really fucking bumming my trip, dude.”

Cullen made to stand up. “Just...food for thought, I suppose.

***  
The doom and gloom looming over Jasper made it hard to focus on anything. As he waited around the war table for Leliana so they could commence their meeting, all he could think about was Dorian and how little time they might have left together. It was different when they went off on dangerous missions, with the constant yet distant knowledge that either of them might die at any time and be forever separated. That was intangible. This, however, knowing Dorian’s plan to leave eventually, to return to Tevinter without Jasper...this was a deadline. This was real and physical and it made Jasper feel more mortal than ever. He wanted to be wherever Dorian was right now, enjoying their time together while they still could.

Josephine tapped her quill against her writing board. “This isn’t like Leliana, to be late like this.”

Jasper glanced at Cullen. They were both restless. Jasper rolled his shoulders. “I’ll go look for her, if you like. Maybe she’s gotten distracted, or received a new report.”

Josephine and Cullen nodded, and Jasper headed out of the war room, heading toward the rookery, but he was waylaid by Leliana herself, who was sprinting breathlessly through the main hall. “Inquisitor!” she said, relieved, when she saw him. There was concern in her eyes as she grabbed Jasper by the arm - something she’d never done before - and started pulling him after her, out through another door and into the garden. “Thank the Maker I’ve found you. Quick, there’s an emergency.”

“What’s happened?” Jasper asked, his heart leaping in his throat as he ran after her.

“Kieran has disappeared into the eluvian,” she explained as they raced through Skyhold to the side room holding the eluvian itself. “Morrigan chased after him. She was terrified. We were together when this happened, on our way to the meeting.”

“Why is the eluvian just sitting open?” Jasper asked as he threw open the door to the little room. The light emanating from the mirror blinded him momentarily.

Leliana shook her head. “It was like that when Morrigan ran after her son. She said only that Kieran must’ve opened it, and then she followed him into the mirror. I’ve never seen Morrigan like that, so scared and frantic. You must go after her! I will get backup.”

Jasper nodded and stepped through the eluvian. He had that weird feeling of walking through cool water, though he never got wet. When his vision cleared, he gasped, tensing all over as horrible memories washed over him. The fear and the anxiety. He saw the death of all his friends, the murders he’d committed.

Instead of leading him into the Crossroads, the eluvian had opened into the Fade.

Morrigan’s desperate voice broke his terrified stupor. She was calling for her son, voice echoing against the cavernous wasteland. Jasper cursed that he didn’t have his daggers, just a few knives hidden in his tunic and boots. He sprinted down the path, the soles of his boots sliding in the loose gravel. His breath was loud in his own ears. Did he always breathe this loudly, this quickly?

“Morrigan!” he shouted when he saw her, running in a panic under a rocky bridge.

“Inquisitor!” she said, surprised, glancing over her shoulder only briefly. “Go back! I must find Kieran before it is too late.”

He put on an extra burst of speed; he was faster than Morrigan, anyway, and caught up to her easily. He grabbed her elbow to stop her. “Morrigan, what happened? Please tell me.”

“Why would Kieran do this?” she wailed, distressed. Jasper had never seen her like this. He didn’t think she could be like this. “ _How_ could he do this?”

Jasper was about to remark that kids - especially preteens - do stupid shit, when she clarified her meaning. “We stand in the Fade. To direct the eluvian here would require immense power. If he is lost to me, now after all I have sacrificed…”

Jasper patted her arm as reassuringly as he could, but he was out of his depth here with a teary-eyed Morrigan. “We’ll find him. Come on, he can’t be far.”

“The Fade is infinite, he could literally be _anywhere_ ,” she snapped, agitated. “Whatever happens to him...it is my doing. I set him on this path.” She stared off into the distance, away from Jasper, and he glanced away. She was trying her hardest not to fall to pieces, he could sense that. She may not have seemed the doting mother, but Kieran was obviously the dearest thing in the whole world to her. “Please, Inquisitor, help me look. For a little while longer.”

Jasper nodded and they continued at a jog through the maze-like Fade. They called out Kieran’s name, but received no response. Formless spirits drifted aimlessly past them, moaning softly, like the wind. Jasper shuddered. He hated being here. He didn’t know what part of the Fade they were in, but he couldn’t help the prickle up his spine like he was being watched. What if the Nightmare demon were nearby? What if it were watching them, waiting for its second chance to rip them all to shreds?

“There he is!” Morrigan cried after they’d searched for nearly a quarter hour. Kieran was standing in a valley below them, a woman standing beside him, bent slightly like she was talking to him so she was closer to eye level with the boy.

“Who’s with him?” Jasper asked, crouching as he slid down the rise toward the boy and the woman. Kieran didn’t seem afraid, like he was trying to escape this woman. He seemed totally at ease.

“That’s…” Morrigan’s voice trailed off as she followed Jasper. Her tone turned icy with disbelief, tinged with fear, anger. “No, it can’t be.”

There was a glow of magic between Kieran and the old woman, which Kieran broke when he saw Morrigan. “Mother!” He looked fine. Perfectly safe, unbothered by the swirling green mist around them and the bizarre old lady.

Morrigan looked with contempt at the old woman. “Mother,” she spat.

Jasper did a double take. He didn’t think Morrigan _had_ a mother, but of course she must have. It was just weird. And what would her _mother_ be doing in the _Fade_? Was she a spirit? A demon? Could demons have kids?

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” the old woman remarked, amusement glinting in her golden cat eyes. She was taller than Jasper had anticipated, and had long gray hair swept back from her face in an elaborate updo that almost looked like horns. She had her hand on Kieran’s shoulder, holding him with her claw-like fingers as she regarded Morrigan and Jasper as if they were interesting specimens.

“Oh,” Jasper murmured. “Am I...interrupting a warm family reunion?”

“Let Kieran go!” Morrigan demanded. “He is not yours.”

Morrigan’s mother rolled her eyes. “As if I were holding the boy hostage. She’s always been ungrateful, you see,” she said to Jasper, as if they were a couple of old ladies gossiping.

“ _Ungrateful_?” Morrigan yelled at her mother. “I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have me, and you will not have my son!”

Morrigan raised her arms to summon magic, but her mother just shook her head. “That’s quite enough, daughter. You’ll endanger the boy.” Then she flicked her own hand with a flash of her own magic, and dispelled Morrigan’s.

Morrigan gasped, staring at her hands, and then glared at her mother. She was enraged as she balled her fists at her side. Her voice was dangerous. “What have you done to me?”

“ _I_ have done nothing,” the old lady said with a shrug. “ _You_ are the one who drank from the Well of your own volition.”

Morrigan’s jaw dropped as shock and realization dawned on her simultaneously. “You...are Mythal.”

“Oh shit,” Jasper said, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. “Wow. That’s...awkward. Uh, hi, Mythal. Morrigan’s mom. Wow. Yikes.”

Mythal chuckled. With a smirk, she gave Kieran a little push, and he ran into his mother’s arms. Morrigan clutched him tightly to her body before letting him go, just a little. She kept her hands on his arms and bent slightly to look into his eyes. He looked sheepish, like he was prepared for a scolding.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Kieran pouted. “I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time.” Then he pulled away from her and rejoined his grandmother. Morrigan looked like she’d just been stabbed.

“I do not understand,” Morrigan said, her voice rich in anguish as she watched her son leave her side, willingly.

Mythal placed her hand back on Kieran’s shoulder. “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.”

Jasper shook his head. “So, like, she’s possessing you? What is Mythal? Was she really a goddess?”

“She is a part of me,” the woman explained. “No more separate than your heart from your chest.” She looked at Morrigan. “You hear the voices of the Well, girl. What do they say?”

Morrigan looked confused as she concentrated on the ancient voices swirling in her head. She seemed disappointed by what they had to say. “They...claim you speak the truth.”

“As for what was Mythal…” Morrigan’s mother continued. “A legend given name and called a god, or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning.” She eyed Jasper critically. “A herald, indeed. Shouting to the heavens, harbinger of a new age. As for me, I have had many names. But you may call me...Flemeth.”

Wow. Now _that_ was a badass goddess name. But it tickled something at the back of Jasper’s mind. “Wait...Hawke met you. She said you helped her escape Lothering during the Blight.”

“I nudge history, helping heroes, when it is required,” Flemeth said elusively. “Other times, a shove is needed.” She chuckled, as if she’d just made a funny little joke, but it was lost on Jasper.

“Why did Mythal come to you?” Jasper asked, wondering if Flemeth could smite him with the power the Maker supposedly had. He wished he’d taken the time to learn more about the history of his people, their gods and their powers. But he’d always shied away, even once he started to warm to the idea of accepting his people.

Flemeth laughed a full-bodied laugh, which definitely made Jasper feel like she was about to strike him with a bolt of lightning. “For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens.”

That didn’t sound good. Someone had already tried to do that recently, and Jasper was trying to kill that little bastard.

“And you follow her whims?” Morrigan questioned. “Do you even know what she truly is?”

Flemeth gave Morrigan a calculating look. “You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl, because things happened that were never meant to happen. She was betrayed as I was betrayed! As the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me. And I will see her avenged!”

Jasper took a step backwards, shocked by the anger and resentment in Flemeth’s voice. Her face had twisted in rage. He wondered if playing host to a god had driven Flemeth mad, or if maybe it was the effect of being alive for too many lifetimes. Or if maybe she’d always been mad. Then her expression smoothed and she looked out into the distance.

“Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance,” she sighed.

Jasper cleared his throat. “So, uh, you know what we’re up against, right? Are you...going to help us?” His voice crept up an octave as he asked, really rather hoping she didn’t strike him down with her magic right then. This was why he didn’t fuck with gods or anything like that. He didn’t like all that power in one person, unmatched by anyone around them. It was a recipe for disaster, if there was nothing to keep them in check.

“I will,” Flemeth agreed. “Once I get what I came for.”

Morrigan shook her head resolutely, her voice firm and icy. “No. I will not allow it.”

“He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness,” Flemeth said matter-of-factly. “You know this.”

“He is not your pawn, Mother,” Morrigan shouted. “I will not let you use him!”

“Have you not used him?” Flemeth countered. “Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?”

Jasper blinked. That was an awkward way of phrasing things. Jasper had assumed that Morrigan had gotten knocked up, as one does on occasion. He hadn’t really considered that Kieran was planned, first of all. And the way Flemeth put it, it sounded like there was some other ulterior motive for Morrigan having begotten him.

Morrigan’s cheeks flushed angrily as she faced off with her mother. “That was then. Now...he is my son, and I love him.” Her voice was full of anguish as she gazed at Kieran - fear at losing him to her own mother. Did Flemeth intend to kill him, or simply spirit him away for some other reason?

Flemeth seemed surprised by Morrigan’s outburst, her rage and her sadness. Something told Jasper that the motherly instinct to protect, that motherly affection in general, wasn’t something Flemeth was overly familiar with. She probably didn’t think Morrigan would have been capable of it, either.

“Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor,” Morrigan told Jasper with disgust. “That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead.”

“ _I_ am not the only one carrying the soul of a being once thought long lost,” Flemeth said cryptically with a glance toward Kieran. He seemed oblivious, eyes darting between his mother and grandmother like he was watching a tennis match.

Morrigan glared at Flemeth. “He is more than that, Mother.”

“Mother, I _have_ to,” Kieran told her, pain in his voice. He was scared, that much was evident, though of what, Jasper wasn’t quite sure. Scared to lose his mother? Scared to join Mythal?

“You do not belong to her, Kieran!” Morrigan insisted. “Neither of us do.”

“Why now?” Jasper asked, crossing his arms. His fingers itched toward the small knife in his belt.

“I did not know where he was,” Flemeth replied simply. “Morrigan has kept him hidden from me. Until now.”

“‘Twas the Well,” Morrigan realized, horror donning her face.

Jasper took a step forward protectively, between Morrigan and Flemeth. “Whatever else he may be - or you think he may be - I won’t allow you to hurt Kieran. He’s a _child_.”

“And so much better behaved than his mother was at his age!” Flemeth laughed.

Morrigan looked helplessly at Jasper, and it was disturbing to see her like that. Then her legs gave out, and she would’ve fallen to the ground if Jasper hadn’t caught her. He held her as she stared at her son, at Flemeth, tears welling in her eyes.

“Kieran, I…” Morrigan’s words failed her, another disturbing thing Jasper hadn’t expected of the woman.

Kieran was upset. He himself looked on the verge of tears. He really was only a child, no matter what Flemeth thought. He looked up at Flemeth, his face crumpling with sadness. Flemeth closed her eyes and sighed.

“As you wish,” she said. “Hear my proposal, girl. Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or...keep the lad with you. And you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.”

Morrigan straightened up, standing tall and resolute. “He returns with me. Do whatever you wish. Take over my body now, if you must, but Kieran will be free of your clutches. I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.”

Flemeth frowned at Morrigan and looked between her and her grandson. Then she turned to Kieran and took his hands in hers. Jasper almost leapt forward to tear Flemeth away from the boy, but then a sphere of blue light appeared in the air just in front of Kieran’s chest. It moved through the space between him and Flemeth, and then disappeared as it reached Flemeth’s chest. Flemeth was smiling down at the boy, and Kieran looked totally fine.

“No more dreams?” Kieran asked, looking hopeful.

“No more dreams,” Flemeth confirmed, shaking her head. Kieran looked relieved. Then he walked back to Morrigan, and Flemeth let him go. Morrigan wrapped her arm around her son, holding him close, her hands smoothing his hair and clothes. Flemeth looked at them, her head cocked to the side. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me. Listen to the voices. They will teach you, as I never did.”

Then she turned and the mist started to wrap around her, blurring her figure. Morrigan called out to her to wait, but Flemeth kept walking until they could see her no longer.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jasper said, directing Morrigan back the way they’d come with a hand between her shoulder blades.

Once back safely in Skyhold, Kieran ran off to play in the garden. Leliana’s backup was there to meet them - Cullen, with a few stray soldiers. They were relieved that there was no demons to fight, though they had no clue that if things had come to a battle, none of them were in any way equipped to fight such a battle. Not with a god, at any rate. They dispersed at an order from Jasper, even Leliana and Cullen. Jasper wanted to talk to Morrigan alone.

“What the fuck was that about?” he asked as the mirror darkened again. He had half a mind to destroy it, but they might need it in the future.

“Kieran had the soul of an Old God within him,” Morrigan explained. “The ones the Tevinter used to worship before they slumbered. Then they were corrupted by darkspawn and became archdemons. That was how we ended the last Blight, Inquisitor. The soul within the archdemon, instead of moving to another blighted being, transferred to my unborn son.”

“And Mythal?” Jasper asked. “You had no idea your mom was an ancient elven goddess?”

Morrigan shrugged. “Or whatever Mythal may have been. I knew Flemeth kept the truth from me, and I even suspected she was not truly human. But this? I had always thought the so-called elven gods were nothing more than rulers or mages, but now I have doubt. And doubt is...an uncomfortable thing, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, I know,” Jasper sighed. “Believe me. Everything I’d held as the status quo got flipped when Corypheus tried to open that orb. I’ve been doubting everything, even reality, ever since. It’s quite fun, once you get used to it. You stop taking yourself so seriously.”

Morrigan’s lips quirked in a smile. “Just be grateful you did not drink from the Well. I am evidently tied to my mother for all eternity.”

“Ouch,” Jasper remarked. “But, for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, Morrigan. You protected your child. As every mother should.”

She sighed. “Now we must prepare to face Corypheus himself. It appears Mother was right. The voices of the Well tell me I will be able to match his dragon. I will be ready, Inquisitor. All that remains is for you to find him.”

Morrigan left Jasper alone in that small room with the brassy mirror. Jasper stared at it, hoping it never opened again. Especially into the Fade. He tossed a dust sheet over it and turned away, heading back into the halls of Skyhold.

Dorian nearly slammed right into Jasper as he left the room behind. “ _Amatus_!” he gasped, grabbing Jasper by the shoulders to steady him. “You’re alright! Leliana just told me that you’d gone into the eluvian after Morrigan and her son, and - are you okay? You look pale, Jasper. What happened?”

Jasper sighed heavily and put his hands on Dorian’s waist, pulling him closer so they could embrace each other. Jasper rested his head against Dorian’s shoulder, letting his eyes shut. “Well, Mythal is real, and she’s Morrigan’s mom. That was weird. A little overwhelming.”

“Mythal is - you said - “ Dorian was flabbergasted. “Excuse me?”

Jasper nodded. “Ask Morrigan. I’m trying to forget that even happened. I don’t want the gods to be real. Fuck. Andraste’s tits. I need a nap.”

Dorian took him by the hand and led him through Skyhold and up to their quarters. Dorian made sure to lock the door behind them. They sprawled on the huge bed, kicking their shoes off as they sank into the feather mattress and the dozen or so blankets that Jasper hoarded like the little goblin he was. Jasper turned his head to look at Dorian, still holding his hand. Dorian was looking at him already, concern in his silvery eyes.

“I’m okay,” Jasper assured him. “Just...worn out. Need to sleep. Stay with me?”

Dorian nodded and rolled around to fully face Jasper. He grabbed one of the blankets and draped it over their bodies before pulling Jasper closer. Jasper cuddled into his embrace, sighing with relief. He was glad that with all the horrible shit he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis, that he at least could rely on these moments of stability and safety to anchor him to what really mattered. Why he fought so hard. Why he dealt with all this, instead of running away.

He hoped he didn’t have any dreams, because even in Dorian’s warm embrace, he was sure all he would see were the nightmares that plagued even his waking days when he had to think of the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a mess lmao sorry but like school and work are kicking my ass holy shit just be glad i even updated before christmas T.T


	31. It's Finally Fucking Over

There were less pleasant things to wake to than Dorian’s boner pressing into the back of his thigh. He stirred and sighed, shifting a little so that he could feel Dorian against the curve of his ass. He heard Dorian release a shaky breath in his ear.

“Sorry, _amatus_ , I didn’t mean to wake you,” he rasped sleepily, arms wrapped around Jasper’s waist.

“Mmm, but I rather like this wakeup call,” Jasper told him, grinding his hips back against Dorian. Dorian hummed in pleasure, arms tightening against Jasper. Jasper cracked open an eye to see that it was still dark outside and in their room as well, the only light coming from the full moon above the mountaintops and the stars twinkling beside her. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Dorian replied, kissing a line down the column of Jasper’s throat. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Uh-uh,” Jasper said, reaching back and grabbing Dorian’s ass, pressing him close. “Make love to me, _vhenan_.”

It was a term for sex that Jasper wasn’t sure he’d ever used before, but it felt right. It felt fluffy and sweet and perfect as they molded against each other sleepily, heat coiling in their bellies. Dorian was putty in his hands, melting against him, pressing kisses down his back as he pulled Jasper’s tunic off. Jasper kicked his trousers off, his hand guiding Dorian to his half-hard cock. Dorian shifted to pull his own trousers off and then leaned back against Jasper, his cock pressed against the curve of Jasper’s ass. With lube-slicked fingers, he parted Jasper's cheeks and slipped in one finger at a time, knuckle by knuckle, exploring and stretching, until Jasper was gasping and keening into his pillow.

“Dorian,” he whined. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I would never,” Dorian purred into his ear as he slowly entered Jasper. His hand was firm on Jasper’s hip, holding him in place as the sweet pleasure-pain spread through him. Jasper sighed as Dorian filled him completely, peppering kisses over his shoulder and arm. Jasper turned his head to face Dorian and reached for his jaw, pulling him in for what probably competed for the sloppiest sober kiss he’d ever given. But being groggy and in not-the-most-accessible position excused him, he thought.

Dorian rocked against Jasper gently as he stroked his cock, his hand covering Jasper’s. Jasper sighed and moaned, louder and louder, goading Dorian on until his thrusts became rougher and harder and he moved the hand holding Jasper’s hip to his throat, giving it a little squeeze. Jasper moved his hips with Dorian, his hand under Dorian’s jerking faster as he got closer and closer to that edge, that sweet horizon.

They came together, lost in the bliss of climax, holding each other close as the waves of euphoria washed over them until they were left with a peaceful contentment. Jasper rolled over to face Dorian and kissed him slowly, passionately. Dorian carded his fingers through Jasper’s unruly curls, cupping the back of his neck as their hearts returned to a steady, less frantic pace. Jasper ran his hands over Dorian’s chest and broke their kiss, staring into Dorian’s eyes, dark in the dim light.

“I love you,” he whispered into the space between them.

Dorian pulled Jasper close again, arms around his sides, hands flat against his back. He rubbed circles into Jasper’s scarred skin as they looked at each other in the semi-darkness. He shifted so Jasper was on his back and he could rest his cheek against Jasper’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Jasper looped an arm around his back and stroked his arm with a thumb, staring at the ceiling.

“ _Amatus_ ,” Dorian murmured. “I love you.”

***  
There was a light. At first, Jasper thought it was the sunrise, and he started to roll over, pulling the blankets over his head. And then...he realized the light was green. His eyes flew open as pain ripped through his arm, reminding him of that first day he’d awoken after the explosion, when the Breach was a fresh wound and no one knew what was happening. How the Breach had expanded and swelled, and every time it widened the mark on Jasper’s hand grew bigger, too. How the entire landscape was bathed in an unnatural green light. It reminded him of the confusion and fear, the grim resignation to death he’d had. How he hadn’t really cared if he lived or died.

“Dorian!” he shouted, clutching the wrist of his left arm with his right hand as pain lanced through his limb like a fiery poker. Jasper cried out in pain, tears in his eyes, teeth clenched. Dorian was up in a moment, reaching for Jasper; he had no clue what to do as he clutched his lover closer, wishing his magic could do something to help him: to ease the pain, to erase the Anchor. Green light bathed the room, and in the distance, over the mountains, they could see it again. The Breach, slashed open once more, spitting ferociously and tossing meteorites to the earth.

This shouldn’t be possible.

The pain ebbed away, but before he had even caught his breath, Jasper was rushing out of bed, pulling on his clothes and armor. Dorian was doing the same, both of them silent as reality kept beating at the doors of what had been a lovely escape, even if it were just for a night. It had to be Corypheus. There was no other way. Apparently, he was not content to wait for the Inquisition to bring the fight to him.

There was a banging at Jasper’s door. He ran down the stairs, strapping his daggers on, and threw open the door, unsurprised to see Leliana on the other side, looking as bedraggled as Jasper felt.

“It’s the Temple of Sacred Ashes, isn’t it?” Jasper asked, his voice sounding gravelly and strange to his own ears.

She nodded. “I’ve sent scouts to try and secure the area, but we have no army, Inquisitor. The bulk of our forces are still returning from the Arbor Wilds.”

“And he knew that,” Jasper said grimly, leading the way through the main hall to the war room, Dorian just behind him. Cullen was already in the room, and soon they were joined by Josephine and Morrigan. He looked them each in the eye before speaking, but he couldn’t hold Dorian’s eyes for longer than a second. “This is it. This is Corypheus’ endgame. Either I close the Breach this time, for good, or it swallows the world and destroys everything in it.”

“But that’s madness!” Josephine protested, still in her nightclothes, a robe wrapped around her and her hair in ringlets down her back. “Wouldn’t it kill him, too?”

Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think he cares anymore. But we’ll give it all we’ve got. We have to. We won’t give up without a damn good fight.”

The others nodded. This was it. They were either ready, or they weren’t. Corypheus would either be destroyed, or he would destroy everything they knew and loved. The odds didn’t seem that encouraging, but at least he had no more tricks up his sleeves. This was an act of desperation. There was no plan. His army was still in the Wilds, too, and he had nothing left to lose. Jasper, on the other hand, had everything to lose.

All those who were ready rode out, the sun barely peeking above the horizon, masked beneath the green glow of the Breach. It would be a long, hard ride to Haven. What had taken the refugees of the Inquisition a month to travel on foot during a blizzard, so many months ago, would take Jasper and his companions mere hours on horseback, as long as they kept a back-breaking pace.

The ruins of Haven loomed before them. The village was nothing more than some broken lumber poking through the snow, a few loose stones from buildings. The temple was just pillars of stone reaching up from the earth like hungry fingers toward the Breach far above. They had to leave the horses in the village and continue on foot to the temple and the Breach. Huge spires of red lyrium sprouted from the landscape, their poison throbbing like a beating heart. Footsteps were visible in the snow and dirt, the trail of Leliana’s scouts who had come to delay Corypheus.

As they rushed up the path to the temple, they saw him. He stood above them in the ruins of the temple, holding the orb that he’d had when Jasper had first faced him. It was crackling with red energy now, like the electricity his lyrium-corrupted dragon often spat out. There were demons attacking Leliana’s scouts, tearing through them with ease, and Jasper and the others - all of them, his entire inner circle - leapt forward to engage the enemy.

Jasper glared at Corypheus as he sliced down a terror. Their eyes met. Corypheus’ were devoid of anything human; all that lived in them was greed and hatred. His lips pressed into a sick attempt at a smile as he bowed mockingly to Jasper.

“I knew you would come,” the magister spat.

“It ends here, you cumslut,” Jasper growled.

“And so it shall,” Corypheus agreed as he rose from the bow, lifting his arms above his head. Red energy crackled around his hands and shot out to the ground around them. Jasper pitched forward with the impact, nearly losing his footing as the area around them started to rumble and shake. The temple detached from the ground and started to rise into the air, hovering a hundred feet above the ground, far away from reinforcements. Other plots of land were hovering nearby like islands in the sky, and chunks of rock floated above and below them, too, twisting in the air eerily.

Jasper looked around. His companions were gone, still standing on the earth below him, fighting off the demons that were being spat out incessantly from the Breach. He turned back to Corypheus, dual blades at his side. So this was it. Just the two of them. Just like it had been back at Haven. But Jasper didn’t have the option of dropping a mountain on top of Corypheus this time.

Corypheus was, predictably, monologuing. “You are nothing more than a thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A _gnat_.”

“I’ve been called worse, hon, you’re gonna have to try harder if you’re trying to hurt my feelings,” Jasper taunted. Before Corypheus could continue with his insufferable prattling, Jasper launched himself at him. Corypheus parried and knocked him aside as his red lyrium dragon crept over the ruins above, growling low in its throat. Jasper was sure he looked like a tasty morsel, and was really rather wishing Morrigan would get on with her plan.

As the red lyrium dragon was tensing to pounce, another dragon hurtled through the sky at it, knocking it off the side of the airborne island. Morrigan. The wisdom of the Well had instructed her on how to shapeshift into a dragon, one that could match the red lyrium dragon’s power. They disappeared into the air, fighting each other as they flew around. Corypheus shouted in rage, and Jasper grinned.

“Not so big and bad without your pet, are you, shitbag?” Jasper boasted, leaping back to his feet. He pointed one of his daggers at Corypheus. “ _En garde_ , bitch!”

“You dare?” Corypheus growled, but he looked shocked that they’d somehow figured out a way to match his dragon, taking away one of his most powerful weapons.

“Yeah, fuckhead, I fucking dare!” Jasper hollered as he slashed at Corypheus.

“You will fall, as a warning to those who oppose my divine will!” Corypheus promised, tossing a burst of magic at Jasper. He rolled to dodge it and came up again swinging, hacking at Corypheus, but he had a shield spell around him, and all Jasper was doing was wearing it down, not actually doing any harm to Corypheus himself.

Jasper chased Corypheus all over the temple, hacking away, doing his best to avoid his magical attacks. It was exhausting, but Jasper had realized that Corypheus was really not a particularly skilled mage. His knowledge of the arcane may have been unmatched, and he had much power, but his attacks lacked finesse. He wasn’t trained for battle the way mages like Vivienne and Dorian were nowadays. He didn’t know how to make the most of the battlefield.

There was a horrible shrieking roar above their heads. Both Jasper and Corypheus stopped to stare as the two dragons plummeted toward their little island, entangled with each other. Jasper had barely dived to avoid them when they struck the temple. The force sent him skittering toward the edge, but he clung to a pile of rubble. He lurched back to his feet, not seeing Corypheus immediately. He supposed it was too much to think that he’d been flattened by the dragons.

One of the dragons disappeared, shrinking slowly from the form of a powerful beast and into that of a woman. Jasper saw Morrigan lying in the debris, her body steaming. She tried to raise herself, but there was a lot of blood, and her arms shook, unable to support herself. She collapsed in an exhausted, injured heap. Jasper started to run to her, but the red lyrium dragon was still alive, and it was pissed. It stood between him and Morrigan, a low growl rippling from its throat. Blood dripped from dozens of wounds, and it was limping heavily. Well. Jasper had never fought a dragon solo. How hard could it be?

Morrigan had already taken care of the hard part. The beast couldn’t even fly, its wings were so torn to shit. It swatted and lunged at Jasper, but it was weak and dying, anyway. All he had to do was wait for an opening, and it eventually made one. It reared up its head and tried snapping at Jasper, but it was slow, and Jasper was able to slide through the rubble toward it. He landed underneath its sternum, and he slashed both of his daggers upward, raking them back to its neck, through the shredded scales. Blood splashed all over him as the dragon cried and lurched back, shaking its head back and forth as blood poured forth from the mortal wound. It stumbled to the side and collapsed with a crash, and its energy flickered in a red orb that then floated away, toward a surviving upper level of the temple. The dragon was dead, and Corypheus was vulnerable now. There would be no more respawning.

Jasper ran up the stairs to Corypheus, feeling winded, but adrenaline was pumping through his veins, keeping him moving, keeping his senses sharp. He glanced up at the sky. For a moment, he felt like something was watching him. Watching over him. So far, he’d only gotten external flesh wounds; nothing serious. At least not that he could tell, since the adrenaline numbed most of the pain.

The orb was floating above Corypheus’ head in a stormcloud of red, crackling energy. As Jasper approached, a burst of magic exploded from Corypheus, blasting Jasper off his feet. He landed hard, and was sure he’d probably fucked something in his body up, but he couldn’t take stock of that now. If he took a moment, he wouldn’t live long enough to care.

“I will not fall!” Corypheus screamed. “Not like this. I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages…”

The orb lowered to his hands. Jasper clambered to his feet in alarm. No. He couldn’t...If he got the orb to work, who knew what destruction it would unleash? All Jasper’s actions, all this fight, had been for naught. But he seemed to be having difficulty controlling the orb. It spun in his hands like it had a mind of its own.

Jasper lurched closer, his marked hand spitting and flaring as he approached Corypheus. The darkspawn magister was crying out to his ancient gods, begging for their aid. Jasper raised his hand, the Anchor flashing brightly. A green light matching his own appeared in the orb, and it leapt from Corypheus’ hand to Jasper’s. Corypheus collapsed in a heap, staring in horror and disbelief. Jasper raised the orb high, and a beam of light shot up toward the Breach. All he could think was _close, please close_. The clouds swirled and pulled closer together, knitting themselves shut, until the Breach was merely a scar yet again.

Stones started falling from where they’d been suspended in the heavens above. Corypheus’ spell was weakening as his strength failed. Jasper walked toward him, hand tingling angrily. Eager for recompense.

“You wanted into the Fade so badly, cocksucker?” Jasper barked as he opened his palm toward Corypheus. “One way ticket. Enjoy.” The Anchor spasmed as Jasper forced a new rift to open, centered inside Corypheus’ body. Light poured from his orifices, his mouth wide open in a pained bellow. The rift spread outwards until it swallowed his entire body, and Jasper squeezed his fist shut. The rift snapped closed with a tremendous thunderclap, and Corypheus was gone.

Jasper’s reprieve was short-lived. Corypheus now dead and gone, his spells were all broken, including the ones keeping their island aloft. Rocks startled plummeting to the ground, along with all the airborne islands. Jasper lost his balance and fell to the ground of the temple, clinging to an in-tact pillar as he fell from heaven.

***  
Jasper coughed and rolled over. He couldn’t have been out very long; he could hear the distant sounds of the last of the demons being fought. Jasper crawled to his feet, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he couldn’t tell which was up anymore. He leaned against a pillar, suddenly exhausted. The pain started to reach him now, and he felt an ache all throughout his body, particularly in his marked left hand. Then he was on red alert again as he heard someone walking in the ruins.

But it was just Solas. Jasper watched as he approached the shattered fragments of the orb. It had broken into pieces as Jasper had shut the Breach, and he’d left it abandoned on the floor of the temple. Solas bent over the pieces, picking them up sadly.

“Solas?” Jasper rasped as he approached the elf, wiping blood off his cheek.

“The orb,” Solas said despondently.

“Good fucking riddance,” Jasper spat. “Ancient elven artifact or no, that thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”

Solas frowned. “It is lost forever, Inquisitor. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your barbaric apathy to preserving history and magic.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Cry me a fucking river. Corypheus is _dead_ , and the Breach is closed, and that’s all that fucking matters.”

Solas rose and gave Jasper such a look of contempt that Jasper thought the mage might set him on fire with his eyes alone. “It was not supposed to happen this way.”

Jasper waited for an explanation, but there were hurried footsteps approaching. “Inquisitor? Are you alive?” Cassandra’s voice called worriedly. Jasper turned toward the sound. He glanced back at Solas, suddenly feeling like he’d never really known the elf. Solas was no mere wandering apostate, Jasper felt certain of that. But he turned his back on him. Whatever the truth was, Jasper was sure he didn’t want to know.

“I’m here!” Jasper called as he picked his way over a huge mound of rubble. His companions were on the other side - all of them. They’d all survived. Even Morrigan, leaning on Vivienne as the mage worked her healing magic on Morrigan’s wounds. And there was Dorian, battered and bloody, but _alive_ , by the blood of Andraste, _alive_. Jasper nearly collapsed from the relief, and there were a dozen hands reaching out to steady him, but he managed to keep his footing.

“Victorious, I see,” Morrigan remarked. “What a novel result.”

“And you’re alive,” Dorian enthused. “And I’m alive. Incredible, isn’t it?”

Jasper stumbled down the last few steps and threw himself into Dorian’s arms, wrapping his arms and legs around the mage and nearly overbalancing him, but Dorian just laughed merrily and hugged Jasper close. Dorian actually _spun_ in a fucking _circle_ , for Maker’s sake, such was his relief and joy.

“And the sky is healed, healthy, whole,” Cole stated. He was gazing upward. “There’s just that to remember it by.”

There was an ethereal blueish-green light in the night sky. It was rather lovely, except that it just reminded Jasper of the horrible green light of the Breach.

“What do we do now?” Cassandra asked, staring in wonder at the scarred heavens. She had the same look when she looked at Jasper, too, as if she couldn’t believe he’d survived all of this. Jasper smiled at her as Dorian set him back on his feet, though Jasper still kept their hands linked, leaning heavily on his lover.

“I think we’re all well deserving of a mug of ale and a good, long nap, don’t you think?” Jasper quipped, grinning. “Let’s go back to Skyhold.”

***  
Of course Josephine had managed to throw together a fantastic party on such short notice - how could she not? It was a few days after their victory against Corypheus, and all the stops were pulled. The food was plentiful and sumptuous, and the booze flowed like milk and honey. The music was loud and joyful, and the dancing was frenetic. Jasper watched it all from a shadowy nook near a taller-than-life statue of Andraste, the only spot where people might not notice him. Though that wouldn’t last long; eventually someone would see him and would pull him back into the party. It wasn’t that Jasper wasn’t as enthusiastic as everyone else; quite the opposite. But he held back. It reminded him a lot of the party they’d had after he and the mages had closed the Breach the first time, so fucking long ago.

He didn’t think another darkspawn magister would swoop down upon them with its dragon. He didn’t think any sort of enemy would challenge them right now; not the Chantry or the Empress of Orlais or the Queen of Ferelden. They were safe, for now. But Jasper was still tired. Emotionally as well as physically. And after a few dances with Sera and Varric, a few pints of ale, and one bad speech, he rather preferred the wall.

Not just that, but the news Leliana had shared with him earlier that evening. Solas had disappeared. Jasper wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t returned with them, and there had been something really rather off about him after the final battle. But what was concerning was that Leliana’s scouts hadn’t managed to find _anything_ on Solas. Not his past, beyond what he had shared willingly with them, nor any information on his current whereabouts, or his plans. Something about that sat uncomfortably in Jasper’s gut. He feared that the next time he met the annoying git, it would not be as allies.

Now that Jasper had officially vanquished Corypheus and thwarted his plans and sealed the Breach for good, every single stinking noble in all of Thedas was clamoring to meet him. He’d received dozens of letters and gifts, and multiple offers of proposals. Dorian found those particularly intriguing. _The Lady Tremaine!_ he’d scoff as he tossed a letter aside. _She’s got two terribly unattractive daughters. Not your type at all._

And of course, even though Corypheus was dead and the Breach was sealed, there were dozens of problems still to be resolved. The refugees displaced by this debacle, the Grey Wardens rebuilding, the remaining rifts scattered throughout Thedas. And numerous problems unrelated to the Inquisition that the nobles wanted Jasper’s opinion on. Right now, he was in vogue and popular. Everyone wanted a piece of him. He knew that eventually they would come back to their senses: They would remember he was a foul-mouthed, ill-mannered elf with a drug problem and a knack for dealing with his problems with his fists. He would no longer be everyone’s favorite misfit, as the novelty wore off and people forgot everything he and the Inquisition had done to achieve this tentative peace.

He tried not to think about it too much. He felt like such a Debbie Downer, dwelling on all the negativity as everyone partied hard. Jasper saw some nobles gnawing off Dorian’s ear, gushing over him ecstatically. Suddenly, they loved his clothing. Buckles were rather fashionable, weren’t they? And mustaches were doubtless making a comeback. Jasper felt the need to go rescue his lover from the wandering hands and extra caresses that some of the nobles felt were necessary to get across their point.

Jasper came up behind Dorian and wrapped his arms around the mage, leaning his chin on Dorian’s shoulder. The nobles were adequately distracted from Dorian, their focus entirely on Jasper now. They gushed and fauned, and even Jasper felt a little embarrassed at the way they raved about Jasper’s accomplishments and what a handsome and strong elf he was and what a darling couple he and Dorian made.

Dorian maneuvered so he was holding Jasper’s hand instead and started talking to him as if the nobles didn’t even exist. They pretended to talk amongst themselves, but Jasper knew they were eavesdropping still.

“I was passing through the hall this morning, you know, and a serving girl saw me and squealed,” Dorian told Jasper. “Actually squealed. Dropped her laundry and everything. Such a mess.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jasper teased. “Is she your biggest fan now?”

“She was completely breathless!” Dorian continued, chuckling softless. “‘You were at the battle with the Evil One, weren’t you?’ I didn’t even get a chance to answer. She hugged me.” Dorian sounded horrified. “ _Hugged_ me. This is your influence, you know.”

“I don’t know, Dorian, no cute girls have been giving _me_ random hugs,” Jasper pouted. “It must be because you’re so charming and handsome.”

Dorian smirked. “I don’t trust camaraderie. All these people smiling, buying me drinks...It’s unnatural. Mind you, I can’t say I hate the notion of being the ‘good Tevinter’. ‘I suppose you can’t all be evil bastards,’” he quoted in a deep voice. “The blacksmith said that, and he _spat_ when we first met. I hope my father hears. He will shit his pants from shock, I swear.”

Jasper couldn’t help the smile on his face. “You must’ve bewitched them all with your magely wiles. You’ve sure bewitched me.” He grimaced. “Maker, that was cheesy, even for me. Gross. But I’m really glad you’re here, Dorian, after...everything.”

“I fully expected to die,” Dorian admitted, dead-pan. “It would’ve been thematically appropriate. And you! You could’ve been a martyr! Oh, the songs they would’ve composed.”

“There will still be songs,” Jasper said with a roll of his eyes, imagining some horrible tune along the lines of _Once We Were_.

“Yes, but they won’t have the same gravitas!” Dorian protested. “I suppose we’ll just have to be content with being alive.”

Jasper smirked and pulled Dorian closer, pressing kisses along his jaw. “I could think of a few other things we could do to celebrate our being alive, you know. Maybe in private, though.”

“Ooh, the Inquisitor, showing restraint?” Dorian teased, running his fingers through Jasper’s curls.

“Perish the thought,” Jasper growled as he pushed Dorian against the door leading to his quarters. He ignored the twittering behind him as he turned the handle and tumbled through the doorway with Dorian. Jasper kicked it shut behind them and was delighted when Dorian lifted him off his feet. Jasper grinned and wrapped his arms and legs around Dorian, peppering kisses all over his face and neck.

“A little eager, hm?” Dorian quipped, carrying Jasper up the stairs.

“Near death experiences have that effect on me,” Jasper sighed.

A cool breeze tickled his skin as Dorian tossed him onto the large bed. The doors to the balcony were open, letting in the light of setting sun over the mountains. Jasper tugged his clothes off and pulled Dorian on top of him, then pointed outside.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Jasper remarked before licking the edge of Dorian’s ear. “Kind of surprised I got to see another sunset, after all.”

Dorian pressed his face to Jasper’s neck with a sigh. “We’ll see many more, _amatus_. I promise you that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it!!! sorry for the unplanned hiatus, work has been kicking my ass lol.
> 
> anyway! this is the end! it's finished! donezo! amazing i can't believe i actually finished something lol.
> 
> i hope you enjoy. i may or may not write an epilogue. we'll see. hopefully i'll have some AUs next year. once again, school + work = exhausted, so not much serious writing is happening.
> 
> i hope you liked this little story with me. y'all are the light of my life <3 always encouraging me and giving me such love. thank you all!!!! happy new year!!!!


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